Sleepwake
by maomi
Summary: Jin/Xiaoyu/Hwoarang fluff. author note, not ch.19!!
1. no damsel in distress

Title: Sleepwake  
  
1 Author: Maomi  
  
Email: maomi_girl@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: PG for this chapter, but may well be R later  
  
Summary: A piece of Jin/Xiaoyu/Hwoarang fluff that hit me over the head one night as I was sleeping and has been gnawing on my consciousness ever since.  
  
Disclaimer: Tekken and its characters do not belong to me. I am only a lowly fanfic writer. Besides, if Jin or Hwoarang were mine, I wouldn't be spending my time writing fanfic. . . ::eyes glaze over:: ::suddenly comes to senses and clears throat:: Uh. But anyway, onto the story.  
  
Sleepwake (Part 1/?)  
  
  
  
7:55:01 PM.  
  
Xiaoyu was walking through the brightly lit city streets, enjoying the coldness of the night air, the colorful glow of shop windows, the lightness of her backpack. This was freedom, and it would last for another two weeks! Winter break had arrived with the speed of a snail, but now that today was finally the first day of vacation, she wanted to burst into joyous song.  
  
7:55:02 PM.  
  
In the span of a second, her future changed.  
  
Suddenly, Xiaoyu was on the ground, pain burning where her knees had scraped the sidewalk. She swiftly turned to see who had shoved her so roughly and found herself eye-to-eye with a stranger. Her assailant had pushed her into a narrow alley that she hadn't realized she'd walked past, and now the light shown from behind the stranger so that she saw him as a silhouette of darkness. His one feature visible to her was the vivid purple scarring across his neck.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" Xiaoyu demanded, pushing herself up off of the ground and standing with her body tensed, ready to fight.  
  
But Scar-neck wasn't paying any attention to her. His eyes had already lighted on Xiaoyu's backpack, fallen a few feet away. It only took a second for her to realize what the purpose of this little skirmish had been.  
  
They both dove for the bag at the same time, and each grabbed hold of one strap. The two struggled in a bizarre tug of war, which struck Xiaoyu as being kind of funny in a crazy, idiotic way. Shaking her inappropriate thoughts out of her head, she tightened her grasp on her strap.  
  
"Look, there's nothing in there. If you just leave me alone right now, I promise not to hurt you," she said reasonably.  
  
Scar-neck didn't let go, only snorting mockingly in response. Xiaoyu felt her anger reach its peak; she HATED it when people didn't take her seriously.  
  
"Fine, but you're asking for it," she muttered under her breath. Without warning, Xiaoyu released her strap. Unbalanced, the man sprawled onto the ground, staring at her, dazed. Xiaoyu spread her arms back like wings, and crouched low, leaning her weight on one leg while extending the other in front of her, becoming the embodiment of a phoenix. Not giving Scar-neck the opportunity to get to his feet, she swept her leg underneath her in a circle, once, twice. What seemed like graceful gymnastics to an observer were actually several painful kicks to the man.  
  
Frightened now, the man hastily scrambled to get away, but Xiaoyu was already attacking again. She jumped high into the air, one foot soaring and hitting Scar-neck below his chin, the power of the blow sending her opponent flying backwards. She landed lightly on her feet, but the man hit the ground with a satisfying 'thump'. Understandably, he groaned.  
  
Xiaoyu waited, but he lay on the ground motionlessly. She felt her adrenaline high dissolve into nervous concern.  
  
"Uh. . .are you still conscious?" she asked, approaching his body cautiously. She began to worry that she might have accidentally killed him, and nudged his side with her foot.  
  
"Oh no," she whispered, "I didn't mean to kick you THAT hard." In despair, she turned away from the body and buried her face in her hands, the image of grim policemen and jail cell bars imprinted in her mind. "What am I gonna tell Uncle Wang?"  
  
But it seemed her fears were unfounded, for behind Xiaoyu, the man was staggering to his feet, a trashcan cover in his hand.  
  
She heard the 'whish' sound of an object moving through air, but she ducked too late. The lid didn't hit her head with full force, instead glancing the side of her temple. Xiaoyu swayed on her feet, the pain dull and throbbing. Not turning around, she hooked her leg up in an unusual but powerful kick, aiming for just the right spot to punish Scar-neck for playing dirty-  
  
But the only thing her foot connected with was air.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Xiaoyu looked over her shoulder. Instead of rolling on the ground in pain the way he should have been, her opponent was pressed up against the wall, lifted off his feet by another man. It seemed like he was being choked. What, had Scar-neck tried to rob him too?  
  
Xiaoyu turned around and squinted at them. The new guy seemed kind of familiar, but she wasn't sure why. She wished they would step out of the shadowed alley so that she could get a better look.  
  
"You bas'ard," Guy #2 said to Scar-neck, his words heavily slurred. "Pickin' on lil' girls? People li'e you make me sick!"  
  
"Who are you calling a little girl?" Xiaoyu said, angry again. She was NOT in the mood to play damsel in distress. She was in the mood to throw someone. Hard.  
  
"If you plan on hurting him," she said, gesturing at Scar-neck, "you'll just have to get in line!"  
  
To her surprise, Guy #2 released Scar-neck, who slumped to the ground with a moan. Guy #2 walked towards Xiaoyu with slow, unsteady steps. He reached out, his hand brushing the bruise that was beginning to form on her temple. She was too bewildered to move.  
  
"He hur' you," the stranger said, his voice soft and intense with worry. Xiaoyu looked up into his face, trying to make out his features. . .  
  
"Jin!" she gasped, unable to control a wide smile from spreading on her face. She leapt onto him and threw her arms around his neck in undisguised happiness.  
  
"JinJinJin! It's really you! Well, of course it's you, how could I have not recognized that hair, stupid me! Where have you been? I was so worried about you! Why didn't you answer my calls, or my emails, or-" Words tumbled out of her mouth, stumbling over each other in the hurry to be said. She could barely believe her eyes, but his warmth, his muscled back against her hands told her that he was truly here, not a figment of wistful imagination.  
  
Jin said nothing in reaction to Xiaoyu's outpour of questions. He only looked into her eyes, smiling gently.  
  
"I missed your voice," he said, so quietly that Xiaoyu barely heard, but she fell silent with that one sentence, still happy yet suddenly confused.  
  
And that was the end of their conversation, because Jin's eyes closed at that moment, and he toppled, falling as heavily as an ancient tree. Xiaoyu made a valiant attempt to support his weight, but finally had to lay him onto the ground, as gingerly as she could.  
  
"I don't know what you've been through, Jin," she whispered, seeing the scars on his hands and face, the blood stains on his hooded jacket, "but you're here now, and it's going to be okay."  
  
Xiaoyu stood and called a cab. As she watched the car slow to stop in front of her, she thought she felt an indescribable change in the night air, a sort of cold breeze that chilled her beyond her skin, and she shivered. Ignoring her sense of unease, she hefted her unconscious friend into the cab, and slid into the seat beside him.  
  
As the cab drove away, the man whom Xiaoyu had whimsically dubbed "Scar- neck" pulled himself off of the ground with a string of curses. He too felt a sense of unease, but then the scum of city gutters usually do. "The Talon will want to know about this," he said to no one in particular, and headed for a place neither Xiaoyu nor Jin nor any other good boys and girls ever went to.  
  
The backpack lay forgotten.  
  
  
  
Author's notes:  
  
I've been wrestling with myself over whether or not to post this for the past few, oh, weeks now. I started Sleepwake a long time ago (may change title), but wanted to post when it was done. Now, I'm not sure if I'll ever finish it, but what the heck. What's there to lose by posting (besides maybe my pride, that is ^_^ ). Also, an itty-bitty warning to Xiaoyin fans: this will at some point involve Hwoarang, so Jin is gonna have some competition ^_^.  
  
Anyway, pleeeeeeease tell me what you think of this beginning. Some authors are very dignified and look down on those who beg for feedback, so let me make it clear: I'm not one of those authors! I love feedback, please don't make me grovel! 


	2. something wrong

Sleepwake (Part 2/?)  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimer  
  
  
  
The Blood Talon lounged in a bar known as the Gallows for its dark history of pain, gore, and betrayal. It was an old place that saw drunken brawls on a near-daily basis; blood on the floors of The Gallows was a common sight.  
  
But Hwoarang leaned against the bar counter with an air of relaxed confidence. In his mind, he owned the place, and most patrons of the Gallows weren't brave enough to disagree.  
  
Presently a tall stick-figure man limped carefully before Hwoarang. Hwoarang recognized the scarring on his throat before recognizing his face.  
  
"Blood Talon?" The man asked in a tentative voice.  
  
"What, Niko?" Hwoarang replied, suspiciously eyeing the glass of vodka in his hand, before downing it all in one swallow.  
  
"I saw Jin Kazama."  
  
Hwoarang froze. Years after that first fight, the name still had not lost its ability to infuriate him. He kept his face impassive.  
  
"Are you sure?" He asked in a level voice, motioning the bartender over for a second drink.  
  
"Yeah," said Niko, hesitating. Hwoarang scanned Niko's face. The man was nervous. The Blood Talon smirked.  
  
"I was minding my own business when-"  
  
"You were stealing."  
  
Niko look disgruntled.  
  
"Uh, yeah, that too. I was just doing my thing, when _he_ shows up out of nowhere. He sees me taking this girl's bag, right? And then, all of a sudden, he's on me, hittin', punchin', pullin' me off the ground and choking me, saying something about how people like me make him sick, bullshit like that."  
  
As Hwoarang listened, his hands curled into fists of their own volition. That holier-than-thou act was just like Kazama, the little goody-two-shoes. Kazama was a sheltered idiot. He had know idea what real life was like.  
  
And yet, I could not defeat him.  
  
Hwoarang forced the thought out of his head. The draw was mere bad luck, but the fact that Kazama had brushed him off every single time Hwoarang challenged him to a rematch was evidence of Kazama's cowardice.  
  
The vodka, his own pride, and Niko's story all pooled together to form one driving, demanding urge in Hwoarang's mind.  
  
He would find Jin Kazama, he would fight him, and this time, he would win.  
  
* * *  
  
The cab driver had seen his share of strange people, but for some reason, the two sitting in the backseat made him particularly curious. One was a twenty something young man who slumped lifelessly against the seat, probably passed out from alcohol, or drugs, or whatever it was kids these days took for kicks. The other was a schoolgirl, fifteen or so by the looks of it. This in itself wasn't really unusual. What intrigued the driver were their actions: the young man twitched in his sleep, mumbling incoherent syllables every now and then, flinching occasionally. The girl watched quietly, concern in her expressive features. Her hand hovered over the young man's for a moment, but then she seemed to change her mind and folded her hands in her lap.  
  
The cab driver thought about making his customary small talk, but decided against it. The girl didn't seem as though she felt like chatting. The young man probably wouldn't appreciate it either.  
  
Finally, the driver couldn't resist his curiosity.  
  
"Is something wrong, sweetheart?" he asked the girl, trying to be kind, despite a somewhat gruff nature.  
  
"Uh, no. Well. I don't really know," she said softly, looking back at her friend. She cleared her throat.  
  
"Are we almost there?"  
  
"Yeah, the school dorms are right around the corner."  
  
In a few minutes, they stopped in front of the Mishima High dorm buildings.  
  
The girl paid him and was about to haul the young man out of the car with her when the driver spontaneously asked, "Do you need any help?"  
  
But the girl had already gotten her friend out of the car, leaning on her. The contrast was startling: she was something small and fragile holding up someone tall, and obviously heavier than her.  
  
"No, I'm okay."  
  
The driver watched the pair make slow progress towards the nearest dorm building. Sighing, he drove away, for some reason feeling downcast.  
  
Twenty minutes later, a new passenger. A redheaded, pale-skinned passenger.  
  
"Where you heading?"  
  
The cab driver glanced at the rear view mirror. He saw white-hot determination in the redhead's eyes.  
  
"Take me to the Mishima High dorms."  
  
  
  
Author's notes:  
  
Those of you who don't know Hwoarang and Jin's back story will find this chapter a bit confusing. Hwoarang is the leader of a "fraud team", or a street gang that fights for cash. Jin got suckered into fighting Hwoarang, but to Hwoarang's incredulity, the two only managed to reach a draw. Hwoarang's been very pissed at Jin ever since.  
  
Also, the Tekken 4 profile says that Hwoarang is now in the Korean army. For the sake of this story, I'm just gonna pretend that hasn't happened yet, creative license and all ^_^.  
  
More feedback please!  
  
Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum. 


	3. room 215

Sleepwake (Part 3/?)  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimer  
  
  
  
"Please tell me where Jin Kazama lives," Hwoarang asked politely of the unfortunate student whom he had pinned against the wall. He didn't really need to say "or else", and besides, that sounded like playground bullying; Hwoarang prided himself on having much more style than that.  
  
The student wheezed a little. Hwoarang waited patiently.  
  
"Uh, he- Um. Jin? Lives in, uh- ::wheeze::"  
  
Hwoarang realized the fact that his hand was wrapped around the student's neck was probably having an effect on his speech. He loosened his grip.  
  
"Better?"  
  
"Um, yeah, thanks. J-Jin lives in room two-fifteen, I-I think. Uh, sir."  
  
Hwoarang released the student, smiling.  
  
"Thank you," he said.  
  
"::wheeze::"  
  
Calmness personified, Hwoarang strode through the carpeted halls of the dorm building. Two-thirty, two-twenty-three, two-ten, oh wait. Here it was.  
  
Hwoarang jiggled the doorknob. It was locked. He knocked on the door. No reply.  
  
Hwoarang growled in frustration, the image of his rival cowering under bedcovers making his blood burn.  
  
"Open the hell up, you spineless rat!" he shouted, while pulling out a lock-picking case. He kneeled so that he was at eye level with the doorknob.  
  
For Kazama's sake, he'd better not be hiding in there . . .  
  
"Who are you calling a spineless rat?"  
  
Out of nowhere came a voice with high-pitched wrath. Hwoarang looked up and saw a tiny Chinese girl with two gravity-defying pigtails sprouting from the sides of her head. She stood over him, her hands on her hips.  
  
Hwoarang gave her the once-over and turned back to his work, inserting a thin strip of metal into the keyhole of the doorknob. Another nosy neighbor. Couldn't a man pick a lock in peace?  
  
"What are you doing?!" the girl asked. Hwoarang was reminded of a tea kettle's whistling.  
  
"It's really none of your business," he answered absentmindedly. He almost had it unlocked. . . just a little bit more to the left. . .damn. He wished the girl would move, she was blocking the light.  
  
"None of my business?! THAT'S MY DOOR, YOU MORON!"  
  
He winced, dropping his pick.  
  
"Hey, you look familiar."  
  
Hwoarang finally turned his attention to her, confused by the sudden change in topic.  
  
"_What?_" he said. It was less of a question, and more of warning: if you waste my time, you will regret it.  
  
"Oh, I know, I know! You were one of the tournament finalists!"  
  
What, the third Iron Fist tourney? Come to think of it, she looked like that hyperactive firefly of girl, Ling something-  
  
Stop. What did she say before that?  
  
"This is _your_ door?" said Hwoarang. Had it been one of his gang members in the girl's place, they would've known from his tone of voice that the best thing to do now would be to slowly back away while answering very respectfully.  
  
Firefly-girl did neither of those things.  
  
"Duh! Who else?" she said, and crossed her arms in front of her. She looked at him in a manner that suggested he was as intelligent as the doorknob he was trying to pick.  
  
"Jin Kazama lives here."  
  
Firefly-girl rolled her eyes.  
  
"No he doesn't."  
  
"Yes. He does."  
  
"No he doesn't."  
  
"Yes he- Look. If 215's not Kazama's room, then where does he live?" Hwoarang ran a tense hand through his hair. Mental chant: I do not hit women. I do not hit women.  
  
"Jin lives in room 215, in Dorm _B_, or E, or something. This is Dorm _A_."  
  
Hwoarang gawked at her. The girl merely grinned. Was she enjoying this?  
  
"Why the hell didn't he _say_ that?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Hwoarang turned away from Firefly-girl. He was going to find that asthmatic little student and teach him to be _specific_.  
  
The girl watched Hwoarang stomp away, waving cheerfully goodbye. Under her breath, she snickered:  
  
"Gotchya, sucker."  
  
* * *  
  
Xiaoyu resisted the temptation to burst into hysterical laughter. Sobering, she stepped into the bathroom across the hall from room 217.  
  
"Coast is all clear," she said, lifting Jin's wrists from where he lay limply on the tiled floor. She dragged him back to room 215, which, in reality, was Jin's room.  
  
"You'll have to tell me about Copperhead sometime. He's pretty cute," she muttered, and began to search Jin's pockets as un-invasively as was possible.  
  
"Good thing he didn't see me push you into the bathroom. I think I deserve an award for that performance, don't you? You should have seen the look on his face- oh, here it is."  
  
Xiaoyu carefully extracted Jin's key from his pant pocket, silently chiding herself for the blush that crept onto her face. She unlocked the door.  
  
"Um, in we go." Xiaoyu pulled Jin into the room, kicked the door shut, and deposited him onto the bed. Only then did she realize the damage done.  
  
It was as though a small tornado had swept through the place. Cabinet drawers had been emptied and left overturned haphazardly on the floor. Paper, clothing, pieces of furniture were strewn all over. In one corner, shiny blue shards of what once was a lamp glittered against a heap of fluffy towels. Nothing had been left untouched.  
  
Xiaoyu turned slowly in a full circle, her eyes becoming even wider than usual, her mouth open in amazement.  
  
"Oh God, Jin," she whispered, "What is going _on_?"  
  
  
  
Author's notes:  
  
Yes, I am evil. But let's hope that I'll post Part 4 sooner than I posted this one ^_^ (sorry for the delay). This one took longer to write because Hwoarang just didn't feel like cooperating with me: shame on Bob!  
  
So the alert peeps out there probably noticed that I said Hwoarang got into the cab twenty minutes after Xiaoyu and Jin already arrived at the 'Shima Dorms. Give yourselves a pat on the back folks, and if you didn't notice, don't worry, I didn't either ::sheepish grin.:: My explanation? Well Jin is pretty darn heavy, with all that muscle and everything (::drool::), it'd probably take Xiaoyu quite a while to carry him that far, taking frequent rests and possible lack of elevators into account.  
  
Anyways, muchos thanks to the wonderful wonderful people who reviewed this story. Big group hug, guys!  
  
  
  
Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum. 


	4. chocolate is good

Sleepwake (Part 4/?)  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimer.  
  
  
  
Xiaoyu jumped in surprise when she heard Jin stir behind her, twisting restlessly on the mattress with his eyes still closed. She dropped to her knees beside his bed and took hold of his shoulders, pausing before shaking him with little force. He looked so tired, his skin a ghostly gray yellow hue, but she didn't know if it was safe to let him sleep. Not now, not here.  
  
Think hard, a little voice said, is it really safe anywhere?  
  
Xiaoyu ignored the voice and focused on rousing Jin. He was putting up a fight, but that meant he was no longer catatonic, merely having a nightmare.  
  
"Jin, wake up, Jin," she said, relieved when he stopped struggling against her and opened his eyes. God, he looked so tired.  
  
"Xiaoyu?" he said, trying to sit up. Xiaoyu gently pushed him back down.  
  
"Just lie down for a moment, okay? You're too weak to be doing anything else."  
  
Jin obediently complied, and settled for watching Xiaoyu's face as she brushed his hair out of his eyes, straightened his jacket. Finally, she stopped fussing and took a deep breath.  
  
"Who's chasing you?" she said at last, breaking the silence.  
  
"Wha'? How, how d'you know?"  
  
"It's not hard to guess. You've been missing for two weeks, Jin, did you know that? Ever since the end of the Tekken tournament, it's been like you never existed. I call your room, send mail, ask around. . .nothing. Then suddenly, you pop back onto the face of the earth again, when I'm being mugged on the street one night, of all things! And, and look at you! You look like you've died!" Xiaoyu waved her arms in the air, trying to express all the emotions she had bottled inside for the past weeks.  
  
"Worse." Jin's lips twisted into a parody of a smile.  
  
"Tell me."  
  
He stared at her, his eyes feverishly bright. Please don't hold back on me, Jin, she willed. Please let me help.  
  
Then he looked away, and Xiaoyu felt crestfallen. But Jin spoke:  
  
"Heihachi," he mumbled.  
  
"Your grandfather?" asked Xiaoyu, her voice incredulous. "Why would he- no, wait." She got to her feet and began to dig in the splintered remains of Jin's desk. She returned to his side bearing gifts: a bottle of water and half a dozen candy bars. Xiaoyu smiled as Jin's eyes lit up. She helped him sit up against a few pillows, then sat back as he began enthusiastically stuffing his mouth full of chocolate, occasionally making blissful sounds that went along the lines of "caramel!" and "heaven", much to Xiaoyu's amusement. Jin Kazama didn't look like it, but he had a worse sweet tooth than Xiaoyu herself, which was saying something. When he finally finished with a sigh of utter satisfaction, Xiaoyu unthinkingly commented, "It's like you haven't eaten for days, huh?" Her hand leapt to her mouth when he didn't reply.  
  
"Oh, Jin, I'm sorry-"  
  
"No, it's okay. And actually, I had some toast. . .uh, yesterday."  
  
"How- What-"  
  
"Don't look so scared Xiaoyu, it's not as bad as you think. Heihachi shot me, and then I've been hiding and- okay, so it is as bad as you think. But. . ." Jin looked ahead, in his mind seeing something more than just the wall of his room.  
  
"He never had a chance against me, you know," Jin said quietly. Xiaoyu had the feeling that he was thinking aloud as much as he was trying to explain for her.  
  
"Maybe if he'd been younger. But then again, probably not. There's, there's something inside me that's not a part of _me_. It's _stronger_, and maybe immortal, and its hatred is so-" Jin broke off, covering his head in his arms, bunching his fingers in unwashed hair, and not noticing the pain it must have cause him.  
  
"Damn him! He should have known, he should've- What was he trying to _accomplish_?" Agony made his voice sharp and jagged, like a rocky cliff, one that Xiaoyu had the sensation of plummeting off of. In all the time she'd known him, she had never heard this kind of anguish in Jin's words, infused in his manner. A dark cloud saturated the air around Jin, one that made Xiaoyu want to weep for him while simultaneously repelling her with fear and doubt. When he spoke again, his speech was strained but soft.  
  
"Heihachi was my only family. I wanted to love him. But I'm not blind, I saw the resentment in his eyes whenever he looked at me, just barely hidden behind his formalities. I just didn't want to believe it, didn't want to think that he was plotting all this while, planning betrayal." Jin paused for breath.  
  
"If it's too hard, or too tiring, Jin, you don't have to go on," Xiaoyu said, looking down. The little voice spoke up again: or is it you who doesn't want him to go on?  
  
"I have to let it out." She could feel his steady gaze on her. Xiaoyu's hands found the candy wrappers and latched on, twisting.  
  
"I fought Heihachi in single combat and it was. . . so strange. He's a powerful, cunning fighter, but that day, it was like he just didn't care. No, let me rephrase that: not like he didn't care, it was like it didn't matter. I defeated him, fair and square, but it felt as if he wasn't even _trying_, just going through the motions, and yet, watching me so closely all the while."  
  
Xiaoyu readily envisioned the scene in her mind, thinking of the few times she had talked with Heihachi herself. He had always seemed unnaturally alert, like he was waiting for something that nobody else could anticipate.  
  
Xiaoyu watched Jin's face, rapt with uneasy fascination in his tale despite herself. She sat perfectly still, only moving her hands in subconscious patterns, twisting the plastic wrapper.  
  
"And then, something- incredible happened. There was a giant green _monster_ with red eyes in front of me. It looked like something out of every child's nightmare, but it was real. Its attacks were real, anyway," Jin said, absently rubbing his side, where an invisible bruise had healed long ago.  
  
"I remembered it, a part of me. Its name was the Toshin, it- it had killed my mother- but for some reason, seeing it there. . . I thought I was hallucinating, wasn't ready when it attacked me. The Toshin had the upper hand at first, and did most of its damage at the beginning. . . the pure _power_ it had, god like. But. . . It was just barely sentient, and it didn't plan or understand strategy. I could trick it once I understood what was going on: all it did was charge without any foresight. It was a simple thing then to step into its blind spot, defeat it with speed and evasion. Your forte actually," Jin said, suddenly focusing on a startled Xiaoyu before gazing back at the wall, almost in a trance. She shook her head, incredulous, and yet hearing the unmistakable truth in Jin's voice. But how could it be possible? She lived in a world roamed by monsters?  
  
"In mid-battle, the Toshin transformed into something even more hideous, like a hunchbacked dragon. But it was the same thing: more power, no strategy. I finally defeated it too, and it just disappeared in this- this flash of _darkness_, like being plunged into melted tar. I thought it was over then. I was so tired, so worn down. So wrong."  
  
"After the battle," Jin continued in a dull flat tone, "Heihachi pulled a silver handgun out of nowhere and shot me, once in the chest." Xiaoyu bit back a gasp. She wanted to comfort Jin, but she remained silent and let him speak.  
  
"He has perfect aim: I felt the bullet tear through me, lodge right in my heart. The physical pain was almost nothing next to the look of hatred he sent me. I didn't understand, for a split second, I just stared at him, unbelieving. Then I knew: I had only been a tool to tame the monster, but it couldn't be tamed without being destroyed, so he had no more use for me. I was nothing but a reminder of _Kazuya_," he spat out, his father's name bitter on his tongue.  
  
"By all laws of nature, I should have died that night." Jin trailed off, seeming lost in thought.  
  
"You're still here," Xiaoyu said quietly, taking his warm hand and turning it palm up, lightly tracing his life line. You haven't died yet Jin. Don't let your hope die before you do. Jin blinked, his eyes shining with emotion.  
  
"Xiaoyu, do you believe in evil?"  
  
"Evil? Like . . . the Toshin?"  
  
"No, not that. The Toshin killed and devoured souls: I'll _never_ forgive it for taking my mother-" Jin's voice broke, a sharp sliver of _something_ surfacing in his expression and then disappearing just as quickly, "- but it was an animal in spirit and mind, without capacity for thought or feeling. I mean evil like- like the Devil."  
  
Xiaoyu stared at him. She believed in _crime_. She believed in people who were bad and did bad things, but Ling Xiaoyu had never in her life encountered true evil, and had no understanding of what it was. She slowly shook her head "no".  
  
"I didn't believe it either, long ago. I feel it though. It's in my blood and my genes. I- inherited it."  
  
"Kazuya!" Xiaoyu whispered. She had heard rumors. Everybody had.  
  
"Yes. He was possessed, and he passed it onto me. That's why I didn't die, Xiaoyu. The Devil saved me." Jin's mouth quirked into that humorless, frightening smile again.  
  
"I don't know the details after that, because I blacked out. An entire week in my memory is a complete blank, and all I remember is the feeling of hatred. When I regained consciousness, I was in some city, far away from here, healed completely without even a scar. I woke up, so hungry, but afraid to show my face in daylight, knowing Heihachi's thugs would be searching for me. I hid for another week, sleeping in the day and taking pieces of food that I found lying around at night. And each time, I fell asleep in the alley of one place, and woke up somewhere else, not knowing how. Yesterday, I woke up here." Jin gestured to indicate the general location they were at, beyond the Mishima High dorms.  
  
Xiaoyu absorbed this, not knowing what else to do or say. At last, she carefully ventured:  
  
"How do you feel?"  
  
"I-" Jin opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again.  
  
"I don't know. I feel less tired. A lot less tired. What's in these chocolate bars, anyway?" he said, reaching down and picking up the wrapper that Xiaoyu had nervously been twisting. He inspected the abused plastic for a moment, and then his mouth formed a genuine grin.  
  
"You know, Xiaoyu, no matter how hard you try, you can't make a crane from candy wrappers."  
  
Picking up on his lighter tone, Xiaoyu growled in mock-indigence and swatted the back of Jin's head.  
  
"I know, you big dork, give me that!"  
  
Jin turned on his side, his head propped up on one hand, gazing thoughtfully at Xiaoyu. His playful mood had changed into something she had more trouble identifying. Whatever it was, she had the sense that she wouldn't like it.  
  
"Xiaoyu," Jin said, looking into her eyes, "I want to tell you that-"  
  
"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU HAIRSPRAY-MARINATED WEASEL!!"  
  
In a cloud of dust, the door to Jin's room broke off its hinges and slammed into the ground, narrowly missing Xiaoyu's head.  
  
The dust soon settled, revealing fiery hair that matched an equally fiery gaze. Jin's eyes narrowed to slits.  
  
"Hwoarang."  
  
  
  
Authors notes:  
  
Man, that was a long one. Exposition is exhausting! I'm too tired to edit properly, so I think I'll re-edit tomorrow. Meanwhile, please forgive stupid grammar mistakes, and/or other writing inconsistencies.  
  
However, I do have some energy left in me to rave about two fics I came across while digging in that oh-so-endless mine of Tekken fiction here at fanfiction.net (write more, people!). The first is the fairly new "Canto", by Lilykane, an insanely talented writer. Those of you who are Tekken 2 die-hards _have_ to check this one out, as well as anyone who wants to bask in the glory of well-written descriptive prose.  
  
The other is older: "The Queen of the Ironfist: Anne Robinson?!" by Dezzie Chan. This fic is so hilarious! Miss Chan's Hwoarang had me rolling on the floor laughing. It's one of the most clever humor fics I've read, and it's guaranteed to put a smile on your face. A big goofy one. Your friends will be confounded. Go read now.  
  
(I didn't get the permission of either writers, so authors, I'd be happy to take this down if you want. Keep up the good work ^_^.)  
  
Oh, and also, Happy Happy Happy Thanksgiving, people! Four day weekend: thankful? Am I ever!  
  
  
  
Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum. 


	5. boom

Sleepwake (Part 5/?)  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimer.  
  
  
  
It couldn't have lasted longer than two seconds, but for a single Moment, there was a stillness in the room, the calm before the storm: Jin half- lay, half-sat on the bed and stared at Hwoarang. Xiaoyu sat Indian-style on the floor, her eyes fixed on the fallen door that had almost smacked her over the head. Hwoarang stood in the doorway, his hands clenched at his sides, glowering at Jin. If looks could kill, Jin would've been a decaying cadaver.  
  
Then the Moment came to Its senses and fled with tail between legs.  
  
"What are _you_ doing here?" Jin snarled. He pushed himself up to a standing position, weaving slightly on unstable feet. The sudden movement made him dizzy, but the situation lent him a peculiar strength; when two alpha males confront each other in the territory of one, the energy feeds on itself and grows.  
  
Hwoarang snorted loudly and tossed his hair out of his eyes, looking like an enraged red stallion.  
  
"Dorm. Freaking. B? DORM FREAKING B?? First you, Kazama, and then Firefly, the no-women rule be damned!"  
  
Jin paused at this statement, too confused to think of a snappy reply. He glanced at Xiaoyu for explanation, but she was laughing so hard that Jin nearly panicked, afraid she was having a seizure. Then he remembered that it was Ling Xiaoyu, and shook his head.  
  
"Not gonna ask."  
  
She laughed harder.  
  
Meanwhile, Hwoarang's face was turning a brighter color than his hair. The two enemies glared at each other, mutual animosity building, becoming something tangible that threatened to explode.  
  
. . .  
  
. . .  
  
Well. Boom.  
  
The redhead ran forward and jumped with impossible speed, his left foot aimed straight at Jin's head. Jin stepped away without thinking and Hwoarang's foot sailed past, but then the Korean was on him again, foot raised and delivering a flurry of kicks, each one forcing Jin back, unable to do anything but block. Relentless, Hwoarang stepped onto and over him in a single movement, one foot somehow balanced on Jin's knee as the other leg hooked over Jin's head, and came rushing down, heel-first. He felt a searing pain in his neck, and was thankful for the shock-absorbing pillows he collapsed against.  
  
Jin was vulnerable now, and both of them knew it. Black spots danced in his vision as he looked up, waiting for the final blow. Hwoarang drew his leg up to his side, held nearly vertical and very straight, ready to fall like the blade of a guillotine. His eyes met Jin's, and something faintly resembling disappointment was there.  
  
Then, as though in slow motion, the blade fell. Jin braced himself.  
  
"Hai!"  
  
What? That wasn't the sound of crunching bone.  
  
A blur that resembled a short hyperactive schoolgirl dashed between the two arch-rivals. Momentum prevented Hwoarang from stopping his kick, but said blur was faster. She took hold of his foot and pushed it to the side. Unbalanced, Hwoarang almost fell, managing a clumsy save.  
  
No, Jin reflected, it was the sound of Xiaoyu beating up a thoroughly bewildered redhead.  
  
Before he could defend himself, Xiaoyu slapped Hwoarang soundly in the face.  
  
"Ow!" he complained, rubbing his left cheekbone with his hand.  
  
"That's for nearly killing Jin! He's ill, you idiot!" She slapped him again, on his other cheek.  
  
"OW!"  
  
"And that's for kicking down the door. It almost hit me!"  
  
Jin would've been happy to continue watching his friend batter Hwoarang around, but hollow, whooping coughs overtook him. He doubled over, his throat quickly becoming raw with the violence of coughing.  
  
Hwoarang gaped at him, amazement etched in his sharp features.  
  
"I- I don't believe it. What the hell, are you dying?" The Korean sounded more annoyed than concerned.  
  
"Maybe. Being shot, eating twice a week, and sleeping three hours a day can do that to a person," Jin retorted, before succumbing to another fit of coughing. Thankfully, Hwoarang was too busy gawking to make a comeback.  
  
"Maybe we should go to the hospital." Xiaoyu said quietly, leaning over Jin and inspecting his injuries. She placed one hand comfortingly on his shoulder, her other one brushing the skin near the newly-formed wound on his neck. Jin closed his eyes, the welcome touch of her hands bringing an unfamiliar sense of peace. Then he registered what she said.  
  
"_We_ aren't going anywhere, Xiaoyu."  
  
"What do you mean? It's not like we can stay here. Won't the Tekkenshu come after-"  
  
"Oh god. I almost forgot. . ." Realization hit Jin like a wave of freezing cold water. He removed her hands from his back and held them tightly instead.  
  
"Xiaoyu, I- I'm so sorry."  
  
"Huh?" She stared at him, cocking her head to one side.  
  
"I shouldn't have told you anything, the danger I've put you in- God, I'm so stupid!"  
  
"I agree," Hwoarang muttered, out of habit more than anything else. Jin ignored him.  
  
"Listen to me, Xiaoyu. You have to leave this building right now, or even better, this country! "  
  
"Wait a minute-" She shook her head, disliking the direction he headed towards.  
  
"Forget everything I told you tonight. It never happened. You never saw me. You were in your own dorm the entire time, reading a book."  
  
"Jin-"  
  
"Please," his eyes begging her as fervently as his words, "Please go."  
  
  
  
Author's notes:  
  
Okay people, I think I just got over a minor writing hurdle. I had a ridiculously hard time with this chapter, and after reading over it, I'm still not satisfied. Nevertheless, it's posted because The Show Must Go On ::dramatic music plays in background. skips. winds tunelessly to a halt::.  
  
But anyways, the next couple of chapters will be coming relatively sooner and will be faster-paced (I hope). You guys tell me what you think: if the story's moving too slow, or ::gasp:: too fast, or too anything.  
  
By the way, my less-than-sincere apologies to my friend, who told me that part 4 has, uh, renewed her Jin + chocolate fantasies. Heh heh. I'd be amused to no end, if not for the fact that now _I'm_ gonna have Jin + chocolate fantasies, so my challenge for the regular Sleepwake readers out there (yes, the both of you ^_^. just kiddin') is to _not_ think about Jin and chocolate for the rest of the week. If I'm going down, I'm taking everybody with me!  
  
  
  
Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum. 


	6. two lamps and a phone

Sleepwake (Part 6/?)  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimer.  
  
  
  
Xiaoyu fixed her eyes on Jin's. She pulled her hands out of his grasp and crossed her arms, her voice surprisingly solemn as she said, flat out:  
  
"I won't leave you."  
  
Hwoarang watched Xiaoyu and Jin engage in a staring contest, his mind racing. This was one side of Kazama that he'd never seen or thought of before, this desperation. He cursed his luck: finally, he'd found his rival, only to discover a battered opponent who was too tired to swat a fly, much less give him a good fight.  
  
"Be reasonable, Xiaoyu, think about what you're saying!"  
  
He surveyed the room: the place looked like his apartment the morning after he'd had a few too many drinks. It was obvious something big was up, and Hwoarang wanted to know what it was.  
  
"You don't know the Tekkenshu like I do. They're ruthless. They'll do everything they can to eliminate me, and they don't care who they hurt in the process!"  
  
The temperature of his blood dropped a few degrees at the mention of the Tekkenshu. Hwoarang had them to thank for his survival skills, in addition to half the scars on his body. But the Tekkenshu belonged to Heihachi Mishima: why would the old bastard target his own grandson?  
  
Hwoarang felt a familiar edge of paranoia creep into his consciousness, and his senses heightened, automatically on the look out. It was a feeling he'd come to trust, a sign of warning.  
  
"I won't leave you."  
  
There was something off here that he couldn't quite place. It wasn't the room. It wasn't the talk about the Tekkenshu.  
  
"They'll kill you without a second thought if they see you with me. Do you want that? Do you want to die?"  
  
Was it the girl? Ridiculous. And it wasn't Kazama, as much as he hated him.  
  
Hwoarang shut his eyes, tapping into his other senses. The smell of month- old fast food. The cool air conditioning against his skin.  
  
"I _won't leave_ you."  
  
"I'm a fugitive now! Running is going to be my entire life, however briefly that may last. I can't let you condemn yourself to that!"  
  
"Jin! Aren't you listening?"  
  
Wait, what was that noise? The faintest whirring, almost inaudible under Jin and Xiaoyu's raised voices. He knew this sound.  
  
It sounded like, like-  
  
"_Damn_!"  
  
Hwoarang cursed loudly, though the other two hardly noticed. He crossed the room in two strides, zeroing in on the bedside lamp. Smashing it, he combed his fingers through the shards, ignoring the shallow cuts on his skin.  
  
Xiaoyu was the first to notice his actions.  
  
"What was-? Why are you doing that?" she asked, looking frazzled.  
  
"Nothing here," was the mumbled reply. Hwoarang continued on to the telephone, which he threw against the wall. His hands moved with a practiced efficiency, but there was no reward inside the phone set. Frustrated, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think. That's where they usually hid, disguised in phones and lamps. Yet the whirring noise was still there. But where?  
  
Jin was now staring at him too.  
  
"'The hell are you doing? Like the room's not trashed enough as it is."  
  
As it is. . .already trashed.  
  
Realizing what he'd overlooked, Hwoarang found the pile of bath towels in one dusty corner, shaking them out and searching through the pieces of broken lamp that fell to the floor.  
  
Jackpot.  
  
"This! This is it!" he said, triumphantly holding the black square of circuitry up for the others to see, before tossing it back on the floor and grinding with his heel until only unrecognizable smithereens were left.  
  
"You're a nutcase," Jin stated.  
  
"And you're a half-wit. Do you realize what that _was_?"  
  
"My telephone and both my lamps?" Jin said, his eyes lingering mournfully on scattered glass and plastic.  
  
"No you idiot, that was the Tekkenshu, listening to the entire freakin' six- hour long conversation you two just had!"  
  
"They were bugging us?" Xiaoyu asked in obvious panic, "Then why aren't they here? They'd come for Jin!"  
  
Hwoarang shook his head, remembering his long history with police departments all over the country.  
  
"It must've been too long. Always the same: they stop live monitoring after a week or so, and only check the tapes every night. Shit, what time is it?"  
  
Xiaoyu glanced at her watch. "Eleven fifty-two."  
  
Hwoarang looked her dead in the eye, hoping he was wrong but knowing otherwise:  
  
"Replay time is midnight."  
  
There was only a second's pause, and then all three left the room, oddly silent and also unified in face of imminent threat. Hwoarang strode ahead of the others, keeping his pace measured: running would call attention and that was the last thing he wanted right now. Xiaoyu followed behind, with Jin's arm draped heavily over her shoulder for support. Hwoarang felt a tinge of guilt for letting her struggle with the burden of Jin's weight alone, but pride wouldn't allow him to offer his adversary help unless Xiaoyu asked. She didn't.  
  
As they finally stepped into the open night air outside the dorm building, Xiaoyu shot him an inquisitive look.  
  
"What now?" she whispered, her eyes darting back and forth. Hwoarang also strained to see into the dark, scanning the murky shapes of automobiles in the parking lot for any sign of life.  
  
"What is this, follow the leader? You two catch a cab to the airport and fly the hell away, while I hightail it back to my pad and hope the Tekkenshu won't track me down."  
  
"Um, too late." Jin said.  
  
Humanoid forms in bulky armor appeared, melting out of the shadows with surprising stealth. Hwoarang swore softly as he watched them cock their guns.  
  
Click-click.  
  
Hwoarang sighed, feeling his stomach drop to his feet, while his adrenaline shot sky-high.  
  
"This is gonna get ugly."  
  
  
  
Author's notes:  
  
I have not died, I've merely been suffocating under a two-story-tall stack of schoolwork. I wish I could update more regularly, but it just doesn't seem to be fated ::shakes head sorrowfully::.  
  
Oh, and a BIG thanks goes out to Sam Blackcrow, who did a great job beta- reading even though I didn't apply all of those wonderful suggestions cuz I ended up hacking off and rearranging 25 percent of this chapter. Thanks Sam! ::waves ecstatically:: And everybody, go read Desperate Measures, because it's beautiful, and pester Sam to write more.  
  
On a totally non-fanfic tangent, I think you guys would really enjoy some of the following websites:  
  
Megatokyo: www.megatokyo.com  
  
I envy Piro-san. I wish I could draw like that.  
  
Tuesday: www.tuesdaycomic.com  
  
::takes deep breath:: I will not gush. I will not gush.  
  
Brunching Shuttlecocks: www.brunching.com  
  
These guys are _so_ funny. Check out the movie reviews. You will laugh.  
  
Jet Li: www.jetli.com (well what did you expect?)  
  
Because the site design is gorgeous, and his martial arts is gorgeous, and Mr. Li is very very gorgeous.  
  
  
  
Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum 


	7. easy as pie

Sleepwake (Part 7/?)  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimer.  
  
  
  
This was not good.  
  
More than a half dozen Tekkenshu soldiers formed a wide semicircle, their weapons raised and edged in moonlight. Xiaoyu's breath hitched. Do something, screamed her body, do something now! But what could she do that wouldn't result in a bloody, lead-filled death? With Jin hanging over her shoulder, she could hardly stand, much less fight the Tekkenshu while avoiding their bullets.  
  
This was not good at all.  
  
As though hearing her thoughts, Jin whispered, "Run," his breath warm in her ear.  
  
I can't leave you behind, Jin, she thought. And I can't defend us without risking your safety. She stood frozen in indecision.  
  
Hwoarang stepped forward.  
  
"Well?" he said, smirking at the Tekkenshu, "Let's get started."  
  
With that, his foot whipped up, striking the helmet of a nearby soldier, hard enough to bruise but not knocking him down. Hwoarang's sudden movement had an immediate effect: all guns simultaneously swung to aim at him, and opened fire with deafening loudness. The redhead ducked behind the soldier, taking advantage of the other's armor so that the Tekkenshu fired fruitlessly into one of their own. Safe behind his human shield, Hwoarang kicked the gun out of the stunned soldier's hands, catching it before it hit the ground. As he looked up, his eyes met Xiaoyu's. 'Hide' he mouthed to her.  
  
Shaking off her shock, she nodded and scrambled towards the nearest car. Nobody gave them a second glance while she pulled Jin with her behind a dirty white van. All attention was on Hwoarang, and he was attacking again. Out of the corner of her eye, Xiaoyu saw him roll, kick, shoot, kick, and suddenly two men were on the ground.  
  
Jin slumped against a car tire, his chest rising and falling rapidly as though he was out of breath. Xiaoyu's brow furrowed. His condition wasn't good.  
  
"This might be your last chance. Take it," he said softly to Xiaoyu, his eyes shut with the effort of breathing. His clenched hand lay near hers on the rough blacktop, and she almost reached for it. She stopped herself, realizing that what Jin wanted was distance. From her.  
  
"Jin, don't you get it?" Her whisper was harsh with frustration. She felt angry and wounded, searching for the words that would convince him he was stuck with her.  
  
But Xiaoyu didn't get the chance to form her brilliant counter argument: stray gunfire riddled the top of the van with bullets, a reminder of the danger at hand.  
  
"Hwoarang needs my help. Stay down, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, Xiaoyu swiftly crept out from the side of the van. She crouched behind a tan Honda, peeking over the hood.  
  
Xiaoyu blinked.  
  
Four of the Tekkenshu were down: one was lying immobile, neck at an odd angle, another sprawled over the trunk of a car, and two more were in various stages of injury, tentatively trying to stand. Hwoarang stood in the eye of the storm, back to Xiaoyu. His left foot jutted up and kicked a fifth soldier in the face, then below the jaw, hard enough to almost lift the man off his feet. His right foot struck the soldier's head twice more before he spun around and kicked the man's limp body six feet away, knocking down another one who had been advancing towards them. Less than three seconds had passed for him to dispatch the two Tekkenshu.  
  
"I'm glad you're on our side," Xiaoyu murmured to herself, dazed by the power in Hwoarang's actions. The Korean looked utterly in control over every muscle in his body.  
  
But there were still more of the armored soldiers. One struggled to his feet in front of the Honda, partially blocking Xiaoyu's vision. She realized that he was armed, but Hwoarang was unaware of his approach, busy savaging a new soldier. Xiaoyu leapt high over the Honda, twisting in midair to land on top of the man. Kneeling on his shoulders, she socked his temple and hopped back as he fell face down, his gun hitting the pavement with a clatter.  
  
A sharp noise sounded behind her. Xiaoyu's left ear was suddenly ringing: someone shooting at her. Without turning, she tucked her knees and rolled backwards, pushing both her feet up. The kangaroo kick launched the final Tekkenshu soldier into the air. She heard cracking bone as his body met the ground.  
  
Xiaoyu glanced over at Hwoarang, who was wiping somebody else's blood off his cheek.  
  
"That's the last of these, but there must be more on their way," he said, his hand smoothing back copper hair. Hwoarang's appearance was pale, drained. Not elated the way she would have expected.  
  
"You okay?" She asked. He looked surprised for a second, before his face became cool and unreadable. Xiaoyu guessed that this was the mask he wore most of the time.  
  
"Still alive." Then, gruffly:  
  
"You?"  
  
"I'm okay, I think."  
  
"Good, grab Kazama." Hwoarang turned his attention to a smooth black sports car and pulled a familiar metal strip from his pocket. Xiaoyu returned to the van, helping Jin stand.  
  
"I think we really should get you to the hospital, Jin." she began.  
  
"No, no. I'm fine-" and he interrupted himself with another coughing fit. Xiaoyu gave him her sternest look, but Jin only stared at his feet.  
  
"Much as I hate to say it, he's right," Hwoarang spoke up, still inspecting the metal strip, "the hospital is the first place they'll look, once they find out he's not here." Shaking his head, he replaced the strip in his pocket, and took out an even longer one. He slid the metal piece between the window of the sports car and the door. Hwoarang swiped the strip to the side, and grinned when he heard a soft "click". The car-pick was placed back in the depths of his leather jacket.  
  
"Easy as pie," he said, swinging open the door and settling into the driver's seat. He gave them an impatient glare when they didn't follow suit.  
  
"What are you waiting for, New Year's Eve? Get in!"  
  
Jin frowned. "This is-"  
  
"Illegal? In case you didn't notice, Sherlock, the Tekkenshu were using us for target practice. We're already screwed."  
  
"I think I hear sirens," said Xiaoyu. Were those lights police cars on the horizon?  
  
Hwoarang cursed. He bent and his hands made a few quick movements under the dashboard. The engine roared to life.  
  
"Jin, does Heihachi have any connections with the p-"  
  
"Yes." Jin maneuvered into the passenger's seat.  
  
"Just checking," said Xiaoyu, jumping into the back. She looked over her shoulder at the prone Tekkenshu on the ground, their figures becoming smaller as the car moved away. Movement caught her eye. She gasped, realizing what it was.  
  
"Duck!" she screamed, a split second before the glass of the rear windshield shattered in a shower of glass. Hwoarang floored the gas pedal, throwing Xiaoyu against the seat as they sped forward. He made a sharp right and the car veered onto the street, thankfully empty at quarter past midnight.  
  
He let fly a string of profanity, and drove even faster. Those were definitely sirens screeching in the distance.  
  
"Xiaoyu, are you all right?" Jin turned to her, his eyes wide and wild.  
  
"Yeah. A few, a few scrapes," she stammered, wiping blood out of her eyes with her palm and trying to fasten the seatbelt with the other shaking hand.  
  
"Here." Hwoarang tossed a packet of heavy duty Band-Aids in Jin's lap. The Japanese youth twisted back with some difficulty, and began to apply the adhesive bands on Xiaoyu's cuts.  
  
"Stop squirming," he ordered. She sighed in defeat.  
  
"You always carry Band-Aids on you?" she asked Hwoarang.  
  
"They come in handy," he said. Then:  
  
"Damn, they're gaining on us. Hold on to something."  
  
The redhead wrenched the steering wheel to the side, and the car shot into an alley. It was no use, the whine of the sirens were still close. The alley was long and dark, and the headlights were off. Xiaoyu crossed her fingers. Please, please don't let it be a dead end.  
  
It wasn't. They swung out of the alley, right onto a road feeding into the highway. Hwoarang's eyes lit up as he caught sight of the sign, while Jin turned slightly green.  
  
"Too fast. Motion. Sickness," he moaned. Hwoarang rolled his eyes.  
  
The scenery seemed to blur by, and Xiaoyu's watch told her they drove for over half an hour. It felt longer. Hwoarang took exits, changed directions, pulled driving stunts that Xiaoyu didn't think were possible. But every time it seemed like they had lost their pursuers, the sound of sirens would come back and prove them wrong.  
  
"We can't go on like this forever," said Xiaoyu, her eyes glued to the cars behind them, "they're too persistent."  
  
"We can," Hwoarang said through gritted teeth, his knuckles white from clenching the steering wheel, "and we will, until we run out of-"  
  
The car sputtered. A red light flashed on the dashboard. Jin slapped his hand over his face.  
  
"Gas?"  
  
  
  
Author's notes:  
  
Tired. So. . . tired. Must. . .sleep.  
  
::head konks keyboard::  
  
(sorry, more ranting tomorrow people ^_^. Editing too. ::yawn:: Good night.)  
  
  
  
::next day:: so yeah, I'm more conscious now, although that's not saying much ^_^. "Maomi," you ask, "why haven't you updated for so long? And when you finally do so, why are you half dead?" Well, gentle reader, the answer is: school, homework (from school), piano practice, school, five seconds of free time, insomnia (because of school), and strangely enough, Christmas caroling rehearsals.  
  
Did I mention school?  
  
But anyways, I have some 'thank-you's to hand around: first, gracias again to Sam Blackcrow for a great job in beta-reading! And reviewers, you do not know how much you guys have made my day. Sleeper, your enthusiasm touches my heart. ::wipes away a tear::. ^_^ Seriously people, it's _such_ a good feeling to come home after a long day and see more reviews for Sleepwake.  
  
And in another installment of "Maomi Tells Readers To Look At Nifty Stuff", I have two words to say: Ender's Game. It's a literary masterpiece, and so are the sequels; I'm currently rereading "Shadow of the Hegemon". Okay, so that's more than two words, but who's counting ^_^.  
  
  
  
Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum. 


	8. bright side

Sleepwake (Part 8/?)  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimer.  
  
  
  
"Look on the bright side, Jin, it could be worse," offered Xiaoyu with a weak smile.  
  
"We're sitting in a jail cell and the Tekkenshu want to kill us. How could it be worse?" Jin's voice was muffled by his hands, which covered his face. Faint echoes bounced off the stone walls of the cell.  
  
"We could be dead."  
  
Jin peeked at her through his fingers. She was right, he realized. He leaned forward, his elbows digging into his knees. Death was infinitely worse than sitting here beside Xiaoyu on this bolted-down bench, in this silent, drafty cell. But then, when the Tekkenshu came, it wouldn't matter either way.  
  
"Maybe they arrested us for speeding," said Jin, knowing he was grasping at straws. Xiaoyu knew it too. She looked away, and picked a particularly interesting piece of wall to stare at.  
  
"What do you think the police are doing with Hwoarang?" she asked, changing the topic. The redhead was conspicuously absent from their cell.  
  
"Torturing him?" Jin said hopefully.  
  
"Jin! He saved us twice. He didn't have to."  
  
"I know, I know." Jin's mouth quirked in the ghost of a smile. Actually, torture wasn't all that implausible, considering the trouble Hwoarang had given the police. Three dislocated jaws and one broken nose before the other eight officers managed to cuff him. The phrase 'kicking and screaming' came to mind. Especially the kicking part.  
  
"Hwoarang does have a criminal background. They're probably just questioning him about it," he said, trying to be reassuring. Xiaoyu looked less worried. She fell back into a thoughtful silence.  
  
Jin took the opportunity to study her. She sat straight, hands folded in her lap, looking so neat and obedient against the backdrop of the jail that in a different situation it might've been funny. Only the thing was that Xiaoyu wasn't a neat and obedient person: if she was acting this way, it was because something was . . . wrong.  
  
Of course something is wrong, thought Jin, suddenly furious with himself. I had weeks to adjust to this and you only had one night. You don't belong here, Xiaoyu. Not in prison, and not with me.  
  
"Jin, is something the matter?" she asked, noticing his attention. Xiaoyu's gaze was so caring that Jin ached inside. It made him want to go out and slay dragons, defeat giants, save the world to earn her trust. But over all of this, the question burned in his mind: what had he done to deserve it?  
  
"Nothing," he whispered.  
  
"Oh. You just look. . ." she let the words hang in the air. I look what, wondered Jin, scared? Weak? Like a man who'll ruin you?  
  
Because I'm all those things, Xiaoyu, even if you don't realize it.  
  
"Will I ever be able to convince you to leave?"  
  
She gave him a slow, sad smile.  
  
"You must be exhausted Jin," she said quietly, as though she hadn't heard him, "why don't you get some sleep?"  
  
* * *  
  
"Watch where you put your goddamn hands!" Hwoarang growled at the officer, who unlocked his handcuffs before throwing him into the cell with unnecessary gusto. The Korean picked himself up from the floor, rubbing at sore wrists.  
  
"Opportunistic bastard," he muttered as the officer locked the barred door and left. He gave the bars a hard kick, the metallic ringing minimally satisfying. Seven years living on the streets in the bad side of town, fighting his way to the top to reign over all of the cutthroats before him, and to what end? The Blood Talon, arrested by a bunch of highway patrolmen.  
  
"Oh, Hwoarang. You're back," said Xiaoyu, blinking at him drowsily from the bench.  
  
Hwoarang cocked an eyebrow at the scene: Kazama looked rather comfortable, lying on his back with Xiaoyu's lap as his pillow. Hwoarang thought about commenting, but decided that the Firefly would probably slap him again for his trouble; he didn't know whether he admired her for her spunk or was amused by her foolishness. For some reason, he didn't think it was the latter.  
  
"How the hell can he sleep?" Hwoarang said instead. Xiaoyu shrugged.  
  
"I'm amazed he stayed awake for so long."  
  
They listened to Jin breath, deep and slow. It was soporific just to watch him.  
  
"So what happened?" she asked, tearing her eyes from Jin.  
  
Hwoarang exhaled in a ragged sigh.  
  
"Ironically, they were interrogating me about something that doesn't have anything to do with him." He nodded in Jin's direction.  
  
"Then all of this isn't about the Tekkenshu?" she said quickly, hope in her eyes.  
  
"Sorry Firefly, but I think it was just a lucky coincidence for them to catch me. A two for one deal." And strangely, Hwoarang meant it when he said he was sorry. For all of them.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"There's been a series of murders around town. Random, messy. They suspect me, my group. What's really funny is that I have no idea what they're talking about. Freakin' hilarious," Hwoarang said, closing his eyes and massaging his temples.  
  
"Don't worry, they won't punish an innocent person," Xiaoyu declared with the firm belief born of naivete. Hwoarang stared at her for a moment before laughing once, a harsh bark.  
  
"Don't I wish it were that simple."  
  
"What?"  
  
"They can't find the criminal responsible, so they're looking for the next best thing: a scapegoat. Who better to blame than the notorious Talon?" muttered Hwoarang, bitterness eliminating all possible pride in his words.  
  
"You really hate them," said Xiaoyu in a matter-of-fact tone. She surprised him again, but this time with her insight. Hwoarang leaned against the wall, looking past the bars into the hallway.  
  
"I have reason to." The image came unbidden: Pyo lying in the dirt, a small body broken and bloody. The smell of burning skin.  
  
"My younger brother. . ."  
  
No. He couldn't dwell in past grief, refused to.  
  
"I'm sorry," said Xiaoyu with soft sincerity, somehow understanding. Was he that easy to read? Hwoarang turned his face away in disgust.  
  
"I'd. . . appreciate it if you wouldn't mention that to Kazama." The less people that knew his weaknesses the better.  
  
"Of course not," she said, sounding taken aback.  
  
The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy like morning fog. Hwoarang wanted to fidget, so he made himself still. Waiting did not agree with him.  
  
A sudden sound jangled his nerves. Was she. . . humming?  
  
" 'Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall' ?" Hwoarang asked in disbelief.  
  
Xiaoyu shrugged, blushing slightly.  
  
"I can't stand the quiet." She stared at the floor in evident discomfort.  
  
"Too much to think about," murmured Hwoarang. She nodded.  
  
"What do you think's going to happen?" Her eyes on Jin.  
  
"Nothing good," said Hwoarang truthfully, regretting his lack of tact when Xiaoyu's face fell.  
  
"What I mean is, it's going to get worse before it gets better," he amended. Right, because that just sounds so much more comforting. Hwoarang mentally kicked himself. I suck at this, he thought. But then again, when was the last time he had tried to comfort anyone? He couldn't remember.  
  
No, that wasn't true. He could remember: Pyo.  
  
He shook his head. Stop it. Just. . . . stop.  
  
"Um, Hwoarang? Do you still have those Band-Aids?"  
  
He looked up, glad for the distraction. Xiaoyu was carefully turning Jin's head to the side.  
  
"I'm afraid this cut might get infected," she said, leaning down to get an eyeful of the back of Jin's neck. Jin didn't stir: screaming banshees couldn't have woken him now.  
  
Hwoarang dug around in a pocket.  
  
"No, they must still be on him." He walked over to the bench to take a look at the damage; his handiwork, as it were.  
  
The cut was swollen and dark with blood. Hwoarang felt a shade of regret for attacking a defenseless man, even if it was Kazama. But then, didn't he make it up to him? Saved Jin's ass more times than a man can die.  
  
Xiaoyu's sharp intake of air drew his attention. The cut was . . .glowing.  
  
"What the hell?" muttered Hwoarang, as the wound shined silver and then, to his disbelief, began to close on itself, like quicksand. Within seconds, it was gone. Only a faint shimmering line remained, and soon that too faded away.  
  
Xiaoyu ran her fingers over the place where the cut should have been. The skin was unbroken, smooth and perfect.  
  
"How can it be?" she whispered.  
  
Hwoarang struggled to find his voice. He had to quell his instinct to step back, get as far away as possible from this, this. . . anomaly. In the city, 'strange' things happened from time to time, and he'd learned, like everybody else, to look the other way and be wary. The pressing need to survive had long ago subdued his primate curiosity.  
  
"The Devil. It's true," said Xiaoyu, so softly that he almost missed it.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Jin's father- He passed it on. That's why Jin didn't die when Heihachi shot him. ."  
  
"So all that time, he hadn't been hiding." . . .His attempts to hunt Jin down for a rematch-  
  
"He _had_ been hiding. From the Tekkenshu. Hiding and recovering."  
  
"If Jin is what Kazuya was," Hwoarang said slowly, "then the Tekkenshu have more reason to be hiding from _him_."  
  
Xiaoyu bit her lip.  
  
"I don't think It's . . . active in him. It just heals his injuries and makes him stronger, faster. He still acts the same. He's still Jin." Her voice wavered, threatening to crack. Hwoarang stared at Xiaoyu, wondering if she wasn't trying to persuade herself more than anything else.  
  
"Maybe," he finally said, not wanting to upset her any further. "You could be right." And he hoped it was true.  
  
Hwoarang dropped down and sat on the floor, back against the wall. Letting his head lean back, he sighed, and blew a strand of hair off his face.  
  
God, did he hope it was true.  
  
  
  
Author's notes:  
  
::astonishment:: I can't believe it: I _finally_ updated. Yay! Happiness!  
  
And it's finally winter break! More happiness!  
  
Exclamation points all around!  
  
!  
  
Okay, I'll stop annoying you guys now ^_^.  
  
Anyways, if you're still reading this, thanks for bearing with me. I know I'm really irregular with posting, but I promise I'm gonna finish this thing, by golly, even if it takes me five years. Although I sincerely hope that it won't ^_^;; .  
  
Wow, I still can't believe it's really winter break now. Winter break = less schoolwork = more Sleepwake = happy Maomi ^_^. Yup, I actually enjoy spending my free time sitting in front of my computer and typing: social life? What's that?  
  
Anyways, happy holidays, everybody! ^^_ (no, that's not a typo, I'm just feeling very Picasso.)  
  
  
  
Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to set fire to my Calculus book. Then again, the cursed thing probably doesn't burn. =_ =;; 


	9. there is no brook

Sleepwake (Part 9/?)  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimer.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Xiaoyu walked through a silver forest. Translucent leaves formed a canopy overhead, tinted with an impossible variety of colors -- purple, green, pink -- and a brook flowed nearby. It was beautiful. It was silent.  
  
She wanted to leave.  
  
Xiaoyu increased her pace, moving from a brisk walk to full out sprint. The foliage changed before her, colors shifting and graduating. Silver became dark green. Green deepened into red, so red it looked black. And then the forest began bleeding. The trees rained blood on her, fat red drops splashing on her skin, running down her hair.  
  
Her legs moved as fast as they could, trying to outrun the trees and the rain, as a scream built in her throat, but she couldn't do that here, couldn't shatter the perfect silence, couldn't escape, couldn't couldn't couldn't-  
  
She couldn't save him.  
  
Xiaoyu jolted awake, gasping for air. Her heartbeat was like a hundred pounding drums in her ears; for a moment, she could hear nothing else.  
  
"Xiaoyu!" a voice was shouting. She was faintly aware of someone gripping her shoulders and shaking.  
  
"I can't save him!" She twisted blindly, but the hands were strong. Fingers pressed into her skin, holding Xiaoyu firmly without inflicting pain.  
  
"It's just a dream Firefly, wake up." A face loomed over hers. Everything was a blurry wash of gray and black, and she blinked, calling the image into focus. Recognition took a moment to set in.  
  
"Hwoarang?" she asked, her throat feeling scratchy. She was thirsty; Xiaoyu thought of the brook. The brook that was rapidly evaporating from her memory: confusion took its place. What brook? What?  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
The redhead removed his hands from her shoulders and stood up, looking unsure.  
  
"You fell asleep sitting up. You had a nightmare."  
  
"I- I did?" She rubbed her eyes. Her head was so hazy, and her muscles felt cramped. She tried to stand, but something heavy weighted her to the bench- oh wait, Jin.  
  
"You don't remember? Just a second ago, you were thrashing around like somebody drowning." Hwoarang's eyebrows furrowed. Dim lighting cast him in a pale yellow-white glow, and he looked wan, restless.  
  
"Oh. I guess I don't have a very good memory," said Xiaoyu, smiling a little sheepishly. She started to take off her coat to put under Jin, but Hwoarang handed her his leather jacket.  
  
"Are you sure?" she said.  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
She carefully folded the jacket and slid it beneath Jin's head, as she stood and stretched. Finally, she sat on the ground, sighing:  
  
"That feels so much better. Thanks."  
  
Hwoarang shrugged. He leaned lightly on the bars, well-defined arms crossed over his chest. The sleeveless gray shirt he wore didn't seem very warm to Xiaoyu, but if he was cold, he didn't show it. His dark copper head bent slightly forward, and if not for the look of contemplation in his eyes, she might have thought the Blood Talon was posing. Xiaoyu bit back a snort: not that posing wasn't unjustified. If she looked like that, she might've been tempted to do the same.  
  
Then she wondered how long he had been standing there.  
  
"Have you gotten any sleep?"  
  
"Don't need it."  
  
"Ah, a creature of the night," Xiaoyu said, nodding sagely.  
  
"I'm a vampire, didn't you know?"  
  
"A vampire who carries Band-Aids around."  
  
"It makes sense when you think about it," said Hwoarang, the corner of his mouth lifting.  
  
Xiaoyu thought about it.  
  
"No it doesn't."  
  
He sighed wryly. "Mere mortals wouldn't understand."  
  
A pause.  
  
"I was trying to think of an escape plan." His voice was softer, but still light for the benefit of any officers who overheard.  
  
"Escape? How?"  
  
"I'm not sure yet, but we'd need some kind of distraction, like-"  
  
Jin sat upright with the wide-open eyes of a fevered sleepwalker.  
  
"They're near," he said, his voice not like his own. It was too sure, the timbre too low to seem real. Watching Jin's lips move, Xiaoyu had felt as though she were living through a scene from a badly dubbed foreign movie, with some anonymous actor substituting his horrible voice for Jin's familiar, gentle baritone.  
  
With a soft groan, Jin doubled over, his arms covering his head, the tendons straining and visible. The thought rose to Xiaoyu from out of the blue: a shield. A shield to protect him from what's inside his own mind. If only she could feel what he felt. . .  
  
"Jin, what's wrong?" Xiaoyu put her hand on his arm, and jerked back in surprise at the heat. She stared at her palm, almost expecting blisters. There were none, but it felt as though she'd held a burning ember.  
  
But then Jin painfully uncoiled, his breaths grew less forced, a sheen of sweat covering him. His eyes looked even more confused than she felt.  
  
"I-" he said, hesitating. "I think that the Tekkenshu are coming here."  
  
Xiaoyu stared.  
  
What just happened here?  
  
He just has a hunch, you're overreacting, she thought to herself. But if it was just a hunch, then why did his skin burn like that? Why was he shaking like an addict during withdrawal?  
  
Xiaoyu opened her mouth without knowing what she meant to say, but Hwoarang placed a finger in front of his lips, signaling for quiet.  
  
They heard voices, faint though clear.  
  
". . .here for the three prisoners in your charge."  
  
"Kazama, Ling, and the leader of the street gang?"  
  
"Correct."  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Author's notes:  
  
I know, I know, another cliffhanger; but hey, this time it's _not_ because I'm mean and I want to torture you ^_^. This scene is really drawing out longer than I expected: if I didn't stop here, I'd need take another millenium to get the chapter posted, or cut it off at some place even more idiotic. Sorry guys.  
  
But yay! I've been on a Card Captor Sakura binge: seven hours straight of sugary, pastel-colored innocence and joy! I love that series: it just makes me want to go out and fill my room with pink plush bunnies. Unfortunately, the store only had the first three volumes ::whaaaa!:: so now I'm gonna just have to watch the WB substitute until they get more. WB is evil evil evil: the only thing that redeems them in my eyes for maiming CCS is Jackie Chan Adventures. Uncle is just too funny.  
  
Also, thanks again to Sam Blackcrow for beta-reading!  
  
Okay, that's enough of my incoherence for now (I ate too much candy, does it show ^_^?)  
  
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Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum. 


	10. chaos comes sugar free

Sleepwake (Part 10/?)  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimer  
  
  
  
Kahoru paused a moment, her face like stone. She gave the man in the white uniform a long, piercing look. She knew it was piercing because she had perfected it years ago; in Kahoru's veteran opinion, no female officer had completed her training without a Look.  
  
"Papers?" she finally asked. The man produced three manila folders, which Kahoru examined. Prisoners were transferred on a regular basis, and normally she wouldn't have paid so much attention after seeing identification, but it was four in the morning, and she was curious about why these men couldn't wait until sun up.  
  
"You are here to return them to the mental ward?" she said, looking up from the folders. "All. . . twelve of you."  
  
Eleven men remained silent and Kahoru wondered if they were trying to intimidate her with uniformity. The first spoke again.  
  
"Specifically, to the criminally insane division. The three are highly dangerous. We mean to retrieve them without any chance of error."  
  
Kahoru turned back to the papers, trying to find the reason for her sudden sense of suspicion. Hwoarang, no surname; twenty years old, male. Kazama, Jin; twenty-one, male. Ling, Xiaoyu; seventeen, female. Kahoru had heard all these names before, but the associations that came to her weren't related to criminals. . . they were to martial arts. Why? She racked her mind, trying to understand the connections her intuition had made.  
  
And why was there so little information in the folders for Ling and Hwoarang, while Kazama's background description was almost too detailed?  
  
Kahoru looked at the uniformed men. Her trained eye detected agitation. She wondered again: what was the hurry for?  
  
"We have dealt with mental ward escapees before," she said in a measured tone, watching their faces and seeing more tension, "I'm afraid the papers for Ling and the street leader are rather lacking in information. I hope you will not take offense, but a call will be made to verify that there have been no mistakes." Kahoru kept her choice of words purposefully vague; she didn't know what "mistakes" might have been made, but she intended to find out.  
  
"Although," she said with reluctance, "Kazama does check out."  
  
Kahoru didn't trust these wardens. If it was up to her, Kazama would stay regardless, but procedure was procedure. She couldn't detain them based on a bad feeling.  
  
"Sign here," Kahoru handed the uniformed men the board, "and the guard will take you to his cell." While I get to the bottom of this, she added silently. She waited until they were out of sight, and picked up the phone.  
  
* * *  
  
Jin was on the bench, waiting and listening to the footfalls grow louder. A part of him was afraid, a whining, relentless fear, but he detested that piece of him. Most of Jin felt something similar to relief. It was going to end. A devil would die without hurting any more people. This was inevitable, this was how it should have been.  
  
But Xiaoyu didn't seem to understand. She had latched onto him in fierce hug, nearly knocking the breath out of him. Jin remembered that this was how she had greeted him, eight hours ago, after seeing him for the first time in weeks. They had come full circle.  
  
"It's not over," she said, her face buried in his neck.  
  
"Yes," Jin told her, giving in and returning her hug, "it is."  
  
"They're coming," murmured Hwoarang, and sure enough, the footsteps sounded close.  
  
Xiaoyu pulled away from Jin, only to stand in front of him, like a mother hen defending her young.  
  
The Tekkenshu were now on the other side of the cell bars. Without their armor, they looked strangely ridiculous, overly developed men in poorly fitting uniforms. The guard unlocked the door. Several of the Tekkenshu came into the cell.  
  
"Kazama," said one who had entered, as though Jin didn't know. Jin stood, and walked by Xiaoyu. She let him pass, but he saw tears in her eyes, and it nearly undid his resolve. I manage to hurt you, he thought, even when I'm trying to protect you. But this will be the last time, Xiaoyu.  
  
Jin stopped before the Tekkenshu soldier, holding out his wrists to be handcuffed.  
  
"Wait!" called a loud voice- female, but not Xiaoyu's. A woman strode down the hallway, flanked on each side by two guards. Her brisk pace soon brought her to the cell.  
  
"You are unauthorized to take any of these prisoners," she said, a level gaze directed at the man who was about to handcuff Jin. The soldier paused, but said nothing.  
  
"I called the ward. There have been no escapees, not from the criminally insane division, or anywhere else. You will step out of the cell, and-"  
  
"I'm sorry," the soldier cut in, his cold tone suggesting otherwise, "we cannot leave without Kazama." In a sudden motion, the soldier reached out and hooked his arm around Xiaoyu's neck, pressing a gun behind her ear.  
  
"And you have no choice but to let us do so."  
  
Jin froze, his mind racing. He made eye contact with Xiaoyu, and shouted the first words that came to mind:  
  
"Minty fresh!"  
  
The man turned to the source of noise by reflex. Xiaoyu took advantage of his distraction, slipping out of his grip while pushing his shooting arm away, at the wall. There was a shower of sparks as the gun shot into stone.  
  
And then a soft sound came from the female officer. Jin saw her collapse onto the floor, her half-drawn weapon falling in the lake of crimson that spread beneath her. A bullet had ricocheted.  
  
The Tekkenshu seemed unwilling to meet a similar fate. Only a few had their guns out and no one had time to aim. Armed, yelling policemen rushed into the hall, having heard the gunshots. Some Tekkenshu looked ready to bolt while others had bloodlust in their eyes. Meanwhile, Hwoarang gave the closest soldier a sharp kick in the knee, and a second bullet ricocheted.  
  
Chaos broke out.  
  
No one seemed to know what was going on, but everybody was shooting. Jin bent into a low crouch, dragging Xiaoyu down with him. Hwoarang was already out the door, crawling to avoid the crossfire. They hurried behind him, and plastered themselves against the wall when they finally turned a corner, grateful for the chance to catch their breath. Jin risked a glance around the wall: they were still firing and it didn't seem as though anyone would be coming after them in the confusion.  
  
"Minty fresh?!" Hwoarang said, panting, "The Firefly's about to get her head blown off and you're thinking about chewing gum?"  
  
"Didn't see you come up with anything better," snapped Jin. Xiaoyu was oddly still, her gaze unfocused.  
  
"Xiaoyu? Are you okay? Did you get hurt?" Jin's eyes were frantic now, scanning for injury.  
  
She looked past him, whispering something that sounded like "the woman". Hwoarang moved his hand in front of her eyes. She didn't follow it.  
  
"She's in shock," stated the Korean.  
  
"Xiaoyu, you're safe now. They won't take any of us to the mental ward."  
  
"You can't _reason_ someone out of shock, Kazama," said Hwoarang with disgust. "Now take off your coat." Jin stared at him.  
  
"Am I supposed to striptease her out of shock?"  
  
Hwoarang gave up, and resorted to tugging the hooded jacket off of Jin. The redhead wrapped it around Xiaoyu with startling care.  
  
Then he stood up. "Let's go."  
  
Jin stood also, pulling Xiaoyu into his arms when she didn't move. Carrying her, he let Hwoarang lead the way, and the other man navigated through hallways with preternatural confidence. Finally, they faced a gated metal door. Hwoarang took out a set of keys and began trying them, one by one.  
  
"Where did those come from?"  
  
"Took them from the guard while he was busy cowering."  
  
"You've done this before, haven't you."  
  
"Why would you think that?" asked the redhead, as he opened the door with a flourish and a grin. They entered a large room filled with cabinets and cluttered desks. Caught by a draft, a piece of paper fluttered onto the floor.  
  
"It's completely empty. Everyone went to the Tekkenshu," muttered Jin. "If it took them all their officers, then Heihachi must have sent us his best."  
  
"Who cares, the windows are open!" said Hwoarang, sounding almost giddy.  
  
They walked out the last door without trying a single key.  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's notes:  
  
Yes, they're free at last! Aren't you glad? I know I am ^_^ .  
  
But yeah, I'm feeling less ramble-y today (I can just hear you guys sighing in relief ^_^). It's probably because of all the rain over here, rather depressing.  
  
Oh wait, I hope everybody had a great New Year's Eve! Mine wasn't very interesting: I slept through most of it. I totally forgot today was New Years Day! Didn't realize it until I heard the firecrackers going off ^_^. I'm ditzy that way.  
  
Plus a huge thanks as always to Sam Blackcrow for wonderful beta-reading, even when feeling under-the-weather recently. Everybody send Sam good vibes!  
  
  
  
Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum. 


	11. of cabbies and queens

Sleepwake (Part 11/?)  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimer.  
  
  
  
Hwoarang felt a rush of relief when he saw the phone booth: it was well- concealed in the shadows of taller buildings, easy to miss. Heavy breathing behind him indicated that Jin had caught up, Xiaoyu still cradled in his arms.  
  
"_Now_ you call a cab?" Jin asked in a loud whisper. "After we walked for nearly an hour, it suddenly occurs to you?"  
  
Hwoarang ignored him, catching Xiaoyu's wrist, which hung lifelessly at her side. Her pulse was fast but faint. He lifted his hand and brushed her forehead: cold, damp with sweat. Damn. Maybe Kazama was right. She had fallen unconscious a few blocks back. Hwoarang hoped it was sleep and not something else. If her shock deepened. . .  
  
He turned back to the phone booth. He had to think for a moment to remember the number, then he punched the digits in quickly, as if to make up the time wasted in walking. As the phone rang, Hwoarang glanced around, searching for any clue that someone might be watching. His gaze couldn't help but return to Xiaoyu.  
  
The change in appearance was so startling, Hwoarang could barely believe he was looking at the same person: Xiaoyu seemed so childlike and frail now, completely different from the loud energetic sprite that he had started to get used to. She should've been someplace warm, someplace with a roof, and he knew that. He would've called a cab sooner, but. . .what if someone remembered? What if some random idiot out on the streets happened to catch a glimpse of three haggard people piling into a car and hauling ass, a block away from a police station ringing with gunfire? And if someone, anyone, thought to copy down the license plate number-  
  
That's not going to happen, he told himself. Eisuke would see to that  
  
The phone stopped ringing. A low masculine voice answered, groggy with sleep but making up for it with pure aggression:  
  
"Who the hell is this? Do you _know_ what goddamn time it is? If this is some-"  
  
"Good morning to you too, Sleeping Beauty," Hwoarang replied, a smirk on his face.  
  
"Hw- Hwoarang-san?" The Blood Talon shook his head in grim amusement at the sudden change of tone. But there was no time for joviality, he had to get down to business.  
  
"Listen Eisuke, I need you to give me a ride. Can you make it right now without being seen?"  
  
"Uh yeah, yeah. But where?"  
  
"Corner of Fujitaka, a block south of the phone booth. Be there in five." Hwoarang hung up without waiting for the response, and started walking.  
  
"You. . .didn't call a cab."  
  
Hwoarang glanced over his shoulder. Jin stood in the same place, refusing to follow. Hwoarang sighed, but he stopped walking.  
  
"I don't trust cabbies."  
  
"Why should we trust your 'Eisuke'?"  
  
Hwoarang started to explain that Eisuke was a close friend, but then he remembered that this fact wouldn't be of much comfort to Jin.  
  
"I know him. You don't. He's trustworthy."  
  
"Heihachi can turn anyone. You're putting all our lives in his hands."  
  
"It's the only option."  
  
Hwoarang continued walking, but he began to regret his brusque words. He was accustomed to command, not persuasion. If Jin decided he'd had enough and chose a separate path, Xiaoyu would have no chance of safety, he was sure of that.  
  
He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd held when Jin came up beside him.  
  
"I trust you," said Jin in a serious voice, "She trusts you." Hwoarang tensed.  
  
"But don't forget that when any one of us makes a decision, it changes everybody's chances of survival."  
  
"You think that's something I could forget?" Hwoarang said in disbelief.  
  
"God, Kazama, I'm the leader of a _ street gang_. Most people worry about their next promotion, what their boss thinks of them; I worry about making sure none of my members are dead the next day."  
  
Jin cast him a searching look, and seemed to find his answer satisfactory, because the rest of the walk was silent. They moved quickly in the dark of early morning, but when they got to the meeting spot, a black car was parked waiting for them. As they approached, a tall muscular man stepped out, his dark brown skin and slanted eyes hinting at a multiracial background. He merely watched them in silence until Hwoarang addressed him with a brief nod.  
  
"Eisuke."  
  
"Blood Talon," he said, bowing. And then he noticed Jin. Well, Hwoarang mused, maybe 'notice' is putting it mildly.  
  
"Damn, Hwoarang-san," said Eisuke with a playful grin, his gaze on Jin, "you move fast."  
  
"Wh- what?" Jin said.  
  
"What happened to the blond? Not that I blame you for making the change." I don't believe it, thought Hwoarang. He's leering at Jin.  
  
"You haven't changed Eisuke," the Korean said smiling. "But just for the record, Jin here is free."  
  
"You don't say?" Eisuke gave Jin a wink. Jin did a remarkable impression of a tomato.  
  
"And who's this?" he asked, looking at Xiaoyu. "She's so cute! How old is she, thirteen? Is this your little sister?"  
  
"A friend," Hwoarang said. "Jin, you and Xiaoyu take the back. She should be lying down. And have her feet elevated."  
  
He opened the door, but Jin hesitated.  
  
"What is it?" asked Eisuke.  
  
"He thinks you'll betray me." Hwoarang's voice was toneless.  
  
The man was smart enough to know when he was being tested. He huffed.  
  
"Betray the Blood Talon? Do I look suicidal to you?"  
  
"You see Jin? Now get in, we've spent too much time in one spot already."  
  
* * *  
  
Under Hwoarang's instruction, they drove around randomly, every aimless detour gradually taking them out of town. By the time Hwoarang had decided it was safe to head for their destination, twenty minutes had passed. Fortunately, Eisuke wasn't only a skilled driver, he was also an entertaining conversationalist. Well his conversation entertained Hwoarang anyway.  
  
"Honey," said Eisuke, waving a hand in Jin's direction, "You have to tell me where you get your hair done."  
  
"I - I don't. I mean, don't get my hair done."  
  
"Wow, that must be some amazing hairspray."  
  
"Uh, I don't use. . ."  
  
"You're telling me that's completely natural?"  
  
"Um . ."  
  
And I'm Mother Teresa, thought Hwoarang.  
  
"What's your name again dear?"  
  
"J-Jin."  
  
"Well talk about winning the genetic lottery, Jin! That's such a cute name: Jin! Isn't it cute, Hwoarang-san?"  
  
"Adorable," he agreed.  
  
"By the way, those pants are jaw-dropping, Jin. Not only is the boy gorgeous, he's stylish too. Where does Hwoarang-san find these gorgeous stylish men?"  
  
Hwoarang couldn't hold back any longer: he burst into laughter at the look of pure misery on Jin's face.  
  
"Speaking of all things fashionable, Hwoarang-san, you look incredible! That's a much better dye-job than last-"  
  
"That's enough, Eisuke," he cut in, laughter abruptly giving way to a frown.  
  
"Touchy, ne?" Eisuke said to Jin in a conspiratorial whisper. Jin's gloating smile was so loud he could almost hear it.  
  
"But how is Xiaoyu-chan doing, Jin? She still cold back there?"  
  
"I think the heater's really helping the recovery."  
  
Hwoarang twisted around: it was true. Her lips were no longer blue, and a slight flush colored her skin.  
  
"Check her pulse."  
  
Jin reached across and gingerly clasped her arm; Xiaoyu was situated so that she took up most of the backseat, with her feet propped up on Jin's knees.  
  
"Her pulse is stronger," he said, letting go of her wrist to brush a clinging strand of hair from Xiaoyu's cheek.  
  
Hwoarang looked away, turning back to stare out the window.  
  
Asleep, she seemed even younger. It wasn't surprising that Eisuke had mistaken her for a child. But in many ways, wasn't that what Xiaoyu was? Naïve, resilient, untouched by the world's corruption, unlike Jin, unlike him. That would change, he realized with a pang. Tonight alone had changed her.  
  
Why are you thinking about this? Hwoarang asked himself. Focus. I should focus.  
  
"Uh, turn left," he said, interrupting Eisuke's stream of chatter. They had gotten close while he'd let himself fall into reverie.  
  
Eisuke's expression became concerned as he began to recognize the environment.  
  
"Hwoarang-san, you aren't going to go see-"  
  
"Yes, I am."  
  
"Who?" Jin asked, sitting up and looking around as though some building might have a big sign saying "me, Jin, me".  
  
"You'll find out," Hwoarang answered curtly. He was suddenly feeling less generous towards the Japanese youth.  
  
In five minutes the car came to a smooth halt in front of a door colorfully lit with too-bright neon signs.  
  
"A bar," Jin stated, his eyebrows climbing. "We came all this way. . . to a bar."  
  
Hwoarang got out of the car and slammed the door shut, leaning down to eye- level with the open window.  
  
"Eisuke, thank you," he said simply, letting the depth of his gratitude show in his voice.  
  
"Anything, anytime." Eisuke said, just as sincere. Then the mood broke as he flashed Jin a wolfish smile. "Really. Anything."  
  
Jin blushed and nearly fell out the door in his haste. Xiaoyu made a sleepy noise when he scooped her out of the car.  
  
Eisuke directed a hard glare at Hwoarang.  
  
"Don't you dare get yourself killed, Blood Talon." Hwoarang nodded.  
  
"Don't worry about me, Eisuke."  
  
Eisuke became theatrically tearful.  
  
"Goodbye! Take care!" To Jin, he mouthed, "Call me!"  
  
Then the black car drove away, and soon their eyes were unable to distinguish it from the darkness of the sky.  
  
"That was. . .something else," Jin finally said. Hwoarang agreed. Then, unable to resist, he cast Jin a sidelong glance, saying:  
  
"So, was it good for you?"  
  
"I hate you."  
  
  
  
Author's notes:  
  
More thanks to Sam Blackcrow, who is ever helpful!  
  
My goodness, I went to the arcade this weekend, and caught my first glimpse of Tekken 4 in the flesh. Suffice it to say that I'm now dehydrated from all the drooling that occurred ^_^. Whew, is it hot in there or is it just Hwoarang's new haircut? ::spaces out::  
  
Jin. Lei. Bangs. Mmm. . .  
  
Okay, I'm gonna stop before this gets R rated ^_^;;.  
  
::sigh:: So today is my last day of freedom ::starts bawling cartoon- style:: Whywhywhy? Don't make me go back, I don't wanna!  
  
Ahem.  
  
Isn't just sad when you're living for the weekends? Oh well, now the only other thing I have to look forward to is spring break. ::counting the days::  
  
  
  
Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum. 


	12. two guys walk into a bar

Sleepwake (Part 12/?)  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimer.  
  
.  
  
Hwoarang simply stood there, staring thoughtfully up at the lime green letters over the entrance of the bar. Jin tried to suppress his impatience, and waited for Hwoarang to voice whatever it was that seemed to so consume his attention, but the redhead remained silent. His tilted face was different, more speculative somehow. Less confident. Jin began to grow uneasy, wondering if this was a mistake.  
  
"What are we waiting for?" Jin spoke, hushed and nervous. His own voice jolted him out of his dream-like complacency, the sound magnified ten times by the unnatural quiet of the street. What were they thinking, standing out here like this, unarmed and vulnerable for anyone to see? He huddled Xiaoyu's disturbingly limp body closer for warmth and made towards the graffitied doors of the bar. Hwoarang's hand shot out, blocking his movement.  
  
"What?" Jin hissed, irritated. He was on edge, rightfully so, and the smell of the cold air promised impending thunder.  
  
"This place. . ." Hwoarang began. He was still looking at the neon sign, as though caught in a trance. ". . .it's different."  
  
That same quiet speculation. Damn him, Jin thought, not knowing what he meant or why he was angry.  
  
"What the hell is wrong with you?" He demanded bluntly, too tired and too damn afraid by now for cryptic repartee. Hwoarang looked at him, surprised. He dropped his hand.  
  
"Okay. Okay, let's just go," the Korean said, setting his mouth in a grim line, like a patient going into the dentist's office. "But don't say I didn't try to warn you."  
  
"Whatever." Jin pushed the heavy wooden door open with his foot, some primitively subconscious part of his mind bracing itself, and stepped over the threshold.  
  
He felt the exact moment when he crossed over from the side walk pavement to the smooth floor of the bar, could identify the shift of one world phasing into another. The heat hit him like a crowbar, and the music, pulsing and loud where there had been silence seconds earlier, drove its pounding rhythm into his skull in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Directly before him flowed a sea of people, sweating and jostling and half-clothed, mindless slaves to the dizzying music as dazzling rays of blue and green slashed the air in hypnotic patterns, a lightshow that beckoned with the force of a siren song.  
  
If Jin were to describe it in one word, it would've been "siege". An attack on the senses, one that persuaded its victims to succumb. But under it, there was something else. Something sly and careful.  
  
The door slammed closed behind Jin, the forceful sound making the thought slip from his mind. Hwoarang was there, watching Jin carefully.  
"Did you feel it?" the redhead said, almost yelling to be heard. Jin didn't understand.  
  
"What are you talking about?" he shouted back.  
  
:: sly, careful, yes, but what are you? ::  
  
Hwoarang's gaze burned. Jin had the feeling that something important was happening, and he was missing it.  
  
"You didn't feel anything," Hwoarang said slowly, a question.  
  
:: I'm invisible. Forget me. ::  
  
"Did you?"  
  
"Yes," said Hwoarang. The word sounded like an accusation. Jin said nothing. He was thoroughly baffled, and it was difficult to think in here. Hell, it was difficult to _breathe_ in here.  
  
He was about to ask what it was that he should have felt, but Hwoarang turned away, heading in the opposite direction. Jin, of course, followed, squeezing through the throng of people and automatically tightening his grip on Xiaoyu. Several members of the human sea sent him lasciviously predatory looks, although they parted before Hwoarang like he was Moses. Jin saw the reason: the Blood Talon's sharp features sent a clear message- touch me and die. As inebriated as some of the dancers had to be, nobody was _that_ drunk. Jin smirked a little. Was the great Hwoarang claustrophobic?  
  
They reached the curved counter of the bar, a small oasis where there was enough elbow room to move without stepping on someone else. Only a few wallflowers lingered here, too shy or stoned for the dance floor. Hwoarang waved over the bartender.  
  
"Where's Mike?"  
  
"Mike who?" The bartender's large weathered face was placid.  
  
"Don't give me shit, Donahue, you know damn well who." Hwoarang's voice was conversational, almost friendly, but Jin could read danger well enough in his eyes.  
  
Professional indifference changed into recognition as Donahue squinted at Hwoarang. To Jin's surprise, it wasn't followed by hasty apologies.  
  
"It's you, is it? Mike's not here."  
  
"Mike's always here."  
  
"He's not tonight."  
  
Hwoarang glared at Donahue, but the old bartender remained unyielding. It was stalemate.  
  
"What about Natalia?" the Korean said, switching tactics.  
  
"Natalia's busy."  
  
"I need to see her."  
  
The bartender shrugged.  
  
Hwoarang was obviously reaching the end of his patience. His words came fast and harsh.  
  
"This is serious. This is so god damn serious, it's making me molt. At least tell me where Natalia is."  
  
Donahue seemed tired of it. He put his hands on the counter and leaned forward, all menace. Jin realized that ten or twenty years ago he might have been a bouncer.  
  
"How many times it been, Bob? I'm sick of you storming in here, making demands. They don't owe-"  
  
"Mary," Hwoarang said, the word like an icicle; cold, sharp. Donahue froze, and Jin could practically hear the doors slam shut. What the hell was Hwoarang doing?  
  
"How old was Mary, Donahue?" The Korean was fierce, but by the grim set of his face, he didn't want to be doing this.  
  
Donahue stared at Hwoarang with all the hatred one person could feel.  
  
"She was fifteen, but Mary was older than her years," Hwoarang answered for him. In a swift movement, Hwoarang took Xiaoyu from Jin, held her out in front of him like an offering to the bartender.  
  
"This is Xiaoyu. She's seventeen but acts and thinks five years younger. Do I have to tell you about her, Donahue? She likes candy, loves it, the sugar highs make her bounce off walls for hours. She loves soft, furry things, like panda bears and rabbits. She wears pink and yellow bows that blind everyone else. She'll babble for eternity about everything or nothing at all. When she's happy she smiles, and when she smiles it's like looking at the sun. When she's sad, she'll try to smile anyway."  
  
Donahue's eyes were on Xiaoyu's face, but it was clear that he saw someone else, long ago lost. Hwoarang's expression softened, almost imperceptibly.  
  
"I don't want to do this to you, Donahue. I wish we could go to the hospital, but we can't. She needs Natalia. Natalia could've saved Mary."  
  
His former resolve demolished, the bartender did nothing, staring at the tiny girl in front of him, oblivious to the music, the people, the world. Finally, he put a set of keys on the counter.  
  
"Gold one," he whispered, "West corridor, third door on the right."  
  
Hwoarang took the keys. He gave the bartender a regretful look.  
  
"I'm sorry. I know what it's like."  
  
As they swam back into the crowd of dancers, Jin asked "Who was Mary?" Hwoarang didn't meet his eyes. "Donahue's granddaughter. She's dead now." Jin didn't press it. He felt bad for Donahue, but overriding that was the knowledge that Xiaoyu would be fine, that Natalia, whoever that was, would help her. Everyone was selfish. Jin was no exception.  
  
Hwoarang stopped in the middle of the crowd and looked down. He was still carrying Xiaoyu.  
  
"Oh, uh. . .here." The redhead placed her in Jin's arms, looking almost flustered, if that were an emotion the Blood Talon was at all capable of feeling.  
  
Soon enough, they had left the dance room and its suffocating crowd behind. The music was merely a faint hum in the halls where they stood. The décor here was markedly different: tapestries in rich colors hung on the walls, along with unfamiliar trinkets and dried herbs. Where the previous room had been expansive and modern, this place possessed a sense of age.  
  
The third door on the right was lacquered red. Questions chased each other half-formed in Jin's head, but Hwoarang beat him to it.  
  
"You really didn't feel anything?" the redhead asked, cocking an eyebrow.  
  
"Nope."  
  
Hwoarang shrugged, moving to knock on the door. Before his knuckles touched the wood, the door swung silently open.  
  
"Show off," he muttered.  
  
They entered.  
  
.  
  
Author's notes:  
  
Hey people, still remember me? ^_^ I feel really bad for not getting this chapter written and posted sooner. Part of the reason was school (always school =_=), part of it was that there's been a lot of things going on in general, but to be perfectly honest with myself, the real reason was that I just grew lazy. After winter break, I thought I'd give myself some time to adjust to the chaos of the new class schedule, along with other things, and a week of inactivity turned into two weeks, turned into three, turned into over a month. I got into the habit of putting the writing off, but then one day I got the sweetest email from Ancientwriter (thank you _so_ much -^_^), and I realized that if I didn't start writing, eventually I'd just forget about Sleepwake completely.  
  
Why do I care so much about this story? Not because I have delusions of literary grandeur, or even because I love Tekken, though I do (ahem, love Tekken, that is. ::cough:: ^_^;;). It's because I began writing Sleepwake and it's not done. I want to prove to myself that I can start something that takes time and effort, and complete it.  
  
Hee hee, you guys landed smack dab in Maomi's self-therapy session ;p .  
  
Anyways, don't worry folks, the next author-rant won't be this long ^_^.  
  
Also, thanks again to Sam Blackcrow for beta-reading help!  
  
.  
  
Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum. 


	13. beware the Bob

Sleepwake (Part 13/?)  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimer.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
A woman. A striking woman actually, although not exactly beautiful, in the way that the Mona Lisa wasn't exactly beautiful. But there was a certain poise and pride, an unaffected grace in her posture. A vivid piece of red fabric loosely bound her hair. Jin remembered when, lifetimes ago, Xiaoyu had forced him to sit through a nonstop Disney movie marathon, complete with the singing gargoyles and garish pastels of the Hunchback of Notre Dame-- but Esmerelda had _nothing_ on this woman. She was dark, she was regal, and she was staring at a battered looking cooking pot with homicidal intensity. Jin felt like he was interrupting something.  
  
"I thought I told you to stay in bed," she snapped, still glaring at the hapless kitchen utensil.  
  
"Me or the pot?"  
  
The woman looked up sharply, focusing her domestic fury on an amused Hwoarang. Jin was almost surprised and vaguely disappointed that, after several seconds, the redhead failed to spontaneously combust or at least turn to stone. But the woman merely folded her arms, favoring the Blood Talon with a cool smile.  
  
"Well, Bob, long time no see."  
  
Hwoarang cleared his throat, a sheepish half-grin on his lips. Jin blinked. Curiouser and curiouser.  
  
"I. . .Uh, you look good, Natalia," the Korean offered lamely. Natalia didn't seem too fond of niceties.  
  
"Yes," she said, with the clear overtone of 'now why are you here?' Seeming to remember his purpose, Hwoarang straightened, his voice more firm:  
  
"I need your help, you and Mike both."  
  
Natalia scowled.  
  
"What now? God, Hwoarang, why did Donahue even let you in?"  
  
"Hwoarang?" the redhead murmured. Natalia seemed to take offense at the interjection, her crimson lips curling in scorn.  
  
"Yes, _Hwoarang_, unlike Mike I can damn well pronounce your name. Unless you prefer Bob? The Holy Blood Talon?" Her eyes were knife blades, although her voice was still like velvet. Hwoarang winced, the barb hitting home. Natalia: one, Bob: zero.  
  
"Come on, Nata, let's not waste time arguing."  
  
She stiffened, and drew her arms closer to her body, gripping her forearms with white-knuckled fingers. Apparently the nickname was from a past that she was loathe to relive.  
  
"What do you want."  
  
Hwoarang sighed, and rubbed briefly at his forehead in frustration.  
  
"My friend's in shock," he began.  
  
"I'm not a hospital."  
  
"No, you're better." It was more of a statement of fact than any form of flattery.  
  
"She got caught in a shootout. We're running for our lives. I don't blame you if you'd happily watch me die, but don't pretend that you'd turn away from an innocent."  
  
Natalia tilted her head, considering. Despite her withdrawn body language, a variety of emotions flashed over her features: anger, impatience, some pity. Doubt was never present; Hwoarang running for his life wasn't such an implausible prospect.  
  
"Leave her, and go."  
  
Hwoarang shook his head.  
  
"You couldn't protect her." Natalia opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off.  
  
"Trust me, Natalia, not with every trick you've got, and I know about most of them first hand, remember?"  
  
Natalia glared at him some more, but by now she'd made up her mind.  
  
"I'll take care of her. Everything else you're asking for- and you're asking for a lot, Bob- it's Mike's choice."  
  
Hwoarang nodded. He glanced at Jin, and Jin caught the message: be grateful we got as far as we did. He felt a flicker of hope. Maybe it could work out.  
  
"Where is she?" sighed Natalia. With her hands were on her hips, she looked reminiscent of a weary mother whose children had tracked dirt all over the living room carpet.  
  
Throughout the entire conversation, Natalia had watched only Hwoarang, as though there was no other person in the room. Now, as Jin moved towards her bearing Xiaoyu, Natalia noticed him for the first time. When their eyes met, Jin felt his pulse slow, the blood heavy and lacking warmth, as though a hard white diamond had replaced his beating heart. He stumbled, numbness sweeping from his legs up through his spine.  
  
Natalia recoiled from him in fear.  
  
"Demonio!" he thought he heard her say.  
  
Jin was frozen in place. A strange sensation of unrest distracted him, itching just below his threshold of pain. He felt dull pressure and recognized it as the floor pushing against his knees.  
  
Hwoarang leapt forward. He stepped back holding Xiaoyu. Jin looked at his own empty hands, mental capacities crippled by an overpowering sense of vertigo. Had he dropped her? What was going on?  
  
"- doing to him?" he caught, the faint syllables distorted at the edges, blurred and buoyant, as though he heard them from under water.  
  
"demon past my gates. . ." Natalia's voice came even fainter.  
  
"He's suffocating-" Suffocating. Jin tried to remember the meaning of the word. It was hard to make the connection, and harder to care when he recalled the definition. It didn't feel like suffocation. It felt like dreaming.  
  
"Fool!" she snarled, "Your bloodbath will sink the forest!"  
  
Jin heard the sharp sound of a slap, and Natalia's gasp.  
  
Reality snapped back like a rubber band. His vision and hearing was restored. Air flowed into his lungs again.  
  
"Jin?" Hwoarang stood above him.  
  
Jin struggled to his feet while Hwoarang watched, not moving to help.  
  
"What did you try to do, Natalia?" the Korean said, his tone indecipherable, if not neutral.  
  
Natalia was also already standing, slim and still as a marble statue. Her wide eyes and disheveled hair were the only signs that anything had happened on her end in the last few minutes. The tension caging her was sharp enough to draw blood.  
  
"I don't know. I saw something." In contrast to her appearance, Natalia's voice was calm. "We'll talk later. Find Mike first."  
  
Hwoarang stayed where he was.  
  
"What will you do?"  
  
"Nothing, there's nothing to be done. If you're worrying for your safety, don't: this isn't the time, I'm not the person."  
  
After a minute's pause, Hwoarang accepted her response and turned to go.  
  
"Leave the girl," Natalia said. He hesitated.  
  
"I won't harm her." It was a promise. Jin stared at Natalia, and she returned his gaze unflinchingly. What could they do now, if she lied? But still, he was unwilling to leave Xiaoyu to this woman.  
  
"How do we know?" said Hwoarang, voicing Jin's anxiety. Natalia rolled her eyes.  
  
"_You_ brought her to _me_." She sounded exasperated.  
  
"Just now-" started Jin, his first words in her presence.  
  
"That won't happen again," Natalia answered with finality. "I've reached my scary-oracling-quota for the decade, thank you very much."  
  
For some insane reason that Jin failed to comprehend, Hwoarang found this explanation perfectly rational, and subsequently placed Xiaoyu before Natalia. Not giving Jin a chance to protest, Hwoarang pushed him out the door, muttering, "Come on, Kazama, before the nice lady turns us into frogs."  
  
"I heard that!"  
  
And without any aid from them, the lacquered door shut itself behind him with a click.  
  
* * *  
  
"Have you gone completely nuts?" Jin was shouting as he paced in circles. Hwoarang sighed inwardly. Kazama stubbornly refused to understand.  
  
"Xiaoyu is, according to every last dictionary ever published on the face of the earth, considered an 'innocent'. Natalia won't harm those."  
  
"Says you!" Hwoarang found himself wishing for a large blunt object to materialize, but none made themselves available.  
  
"Says her coven's laws. Natalia is a witch, to put it crudely. They have their own set of rules, and lucky for us, one of those also happens to be 'don't kill people'."  
  
"What do you call trying to choke me to death?"  
  
"Damn it, Kazama, I don't know; divine retribution?"  
  
Jin glared at him.  
  
"I'll rephrase: 'don't kill _innocents_'. You, Jinney-poo, are no goddamn innocent."  
  
The Japanese youth had no reply to that.  
  
"You heard what she called you."  
  
"'Demonio'," he quoted, in monotone.  
  
"Natalia didn't make a conscious decision to attack you; I know her, she doesn't act like that. It must've been a knee-jerk reaction."  
  
"To evil."  
  
"Kazama, if you were evil, you'd be dead already."  
  
"Then why?"  
  
Hwoarang shook his head. He had his suspicions, but it would be stupid of him to tell Jin now. Not until he could satisfy his own need for proof.  
  
But- Jin deserved an answer, he thought, grimacing. Something.  
  
Hwoarang opened his mouth.  
  
Jin waited expectantly, squaring his sholders. His hands clenched and unclenched in agitation. Hwoarang's eyes followed their motion. If Jin tightened his fists any further, even the bluntest nails would break skin. As it was, purple indents began to smile on Jin's palms.  
  
No, Hwoarang decided. It would be better to leave Jin unknowing than deluded by lies, however well-meaning they might be.  
  
"That's all I know," the Korean finished, casually bring up his own glove- shielded hand to inspect the cuticles. Hm. Hangnails. "Barely any of this makes sense to me. I'll talk with Natalia soon enough." Hwoarang glanced at the lacquered door. Only half-flippantly, he said, "What I want to know is why she was talking to a pot of chicken soup."  
  
Jin shrugged, his thoughts elsewhere.  
  
"Maybe this Mike guy is sick."  
  
Mike. Damn.  
  
"This is going to be hell," Hwoarang said under his breath, groaning. He headed back down the hallway.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Author's notes:  
  
Arg, this chapter was a pain. Thirteen: it's cursed, I tell you, cursed!  
  
Endless thanks to Sam for beta-reading under stress!  
  
Other stuff: rewrote a bit of Part 9 in response to a review: it's nothing that significantly changes the plot, but when I looked back at the chapter, I had to admit, it was pretty ridiculous. I try to write humor into this story, but, eh, those ain't the kind of laughs I'm going for ^_^;;;. Actually, a lot of the chapters, maybe all of them, are in need of reediting in some way or another; but what ends up happening whenever I'm debating a rewrite is, sadly enough, like this:  
  
Chapter whatever: Rewrite me! I'm sloppy, overly melodramatic, and mispunctuated!  
  
Maomi: ::considers in a deeply profound manner for several minutes:: Hmm. Or I could take a nap.  
  
Well which one would you choose?  
  
So yeah. Eventually though, and one day, the world will look upon a shiny, polished Sleepwake. Just not today ^_^.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum. 


	14. pathetic

Sleepwake (Part 14/?)  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimer.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Mike was indeed sick. Hell, sick was an understatement: Mike's hair stood in messy clumps, his skin was the color of pink lemonade, and he looked as though his will to live was slowly burning itself out along with his fever. Absolutely pathetic.  
  
"Um," said Jin. "Shouldn't we, you know, wake him?"  
  
Hwoarang heard a low, angry growl and realized that it was coming from him. He closed his eyes. Get a grip, he told himself. We need Mike. Play nice.  
  
He opened his eyes and turned his attention back to the rumpled pile of pillows and bedding and bacteria that was Mike. Hwoarang stood over the bed, paused for one last minute to glare in irritation at the man's sleeping face, and leaned down to the general location of Mike's ear:  
  
"Please wake up Mike."  
  
Well, that was what he had intended to say. Somehow, it had come out more like:  
  
"WAKE THE HELL UP!"  
  
Mike bolted upright, sending one of the pillows flying at Jin's head.  
  
"Wha?" Sleep-misty blue eyes blinked at Hwoarang. "Bob? Did Natalia send you with soup?"  
  
Just looking at him made Hwoarang nauseous. How could Natalia pick this blond, clueless, incompetent, blockheaded, sorry excuse for a-  
  
"I'm so glad you're here!"  
  
scrawny smiling mule over-  
  
Hwoarang hesitated.  
  
"Come again?" he asked, his eyes slit in suspicion.  
  
"You were on the news, and that guy," Mike's hand flopped in Jin's direction, "showed up too."  
  
"The _news_?" Oh shit. Shit shit shit.  
  
"Yeah, I think they're still broadcasting it. I thought maybe you'd got hurt." Mike looked genuinely sorrowful. Hwoarang ignored another twinge of nausea and snatched the remote control from the nightstand, turning up the volume on the previously muted television set. As the bluish light of the TV played over the room, Hwoarang was aware of Jin's face gradually contorting in horror, and knew he looked the same.  
  
"massacre at a local police station, killing three and flooding the hospital with dozens wounded. Officials say that upon detecting suspicious activity, police chief Nagahiro Koharu approached the cell that held three mental ward escapees. The criminals attacked and killed her, using her firearm to break out of the prison. Authorities are offering a large reward for any information regarding the escapees."  
  
A grainy image of his own face flashed across the screen. Then Jin's. Then . . .  
  
Hwoarang felt a deep, vitriolic disgust for the lies being paraded before him. Xiaoyu had had her future before her. She wasn't even out of high school. What'd the girl ever do to deserve being reviled as a wanted criminal? Her only fault was stupidly following Kazama into this mess like a damn puppy!  
  
And no mention whatsoever of the Tekkenshu. He had underestimated Heihachi.  
  
Hwoarang turned off the television. He threw the remote hard, watched it hit the wall. The batteries rolled over the hardwood floor.  
  
His heart was roaring in his ears. Hwoarang breathed deeply.  
  
He turned to Mike.  
  
"That's not what happened. Heihachi's hunting us."  
  
Mike looked at him, nodding slowly.  
  
"I remember his Tekkenshu."  
  
"Now you understand why we came to you."  
  
"You want new IDs? A place to hide, and a mask to hide you."  
  
"I can't offer you anything in return: my cash isn't here. Credit can be tracked. High risk with no payback."  
  
Mike sighed.  
  
"Money's not the issue. The thing is. . .since Natalia and I. . ." His cerulean glance flickered up to Hwoarang and back down. "It's just that I retired, man. I don't have the contacts that I used to."  
  
Hwoarang ground his teeth.  
  
"Mike. . . please. We've got no other options, we ran out of luck hours ago. Just . . . help us. For the last time."  
  
"Natalia. . ."  
  
"She knows."  
  
"She knows?"  
  
"She knows."  
  
"What do you mean she knows? She knows that I fake gov documents? Everything?"  
  
Hwoarang rolled his eyes.  
  
"Mike, she's _known_. And she has a better idea than I do of how good at it you are."  
  
A pause.  
  
"I am pretty good, aren't I?" Mike grinned. Ah, flattery.  
  
"So you'll do it?"  
  
"Yeah. Damn, I miss it. Just one thing."  
  
Hwoarang braced himself.  
  
"I feel like shit," Mike declared. Hwoarang raised an eyebrow, faintly amused.  
  
"You'll want a good set of backgrounds, cred history, the works. All the research, plus the hard copy itself is gonna take energy."  
  
Hwoarang knew he was right. Mike didn't have spare IDs on hand anymore.  
  
"Give me a night or two, and when I'm not a zombie anymore, I'll show you work so beautiful, you'll _wish_ you were that ID."  
  
Hwoarang laughed, feeling a burden suddenly lighten.  
  
"Thanks Mike."  
  
"No prob, Bob. Crash in one of the guest rooms. Nat and I will be able to kick you out in no time," Mike said cheerfully.  
  
* * *  
  
She was back in the cell. She had already been there a hundred thousand times. Now the soldiers step inside. Now one grabs her neck and drives a gun against her jugular. Now Jin yells, she pushes the gun away, the bullet bounces off the wall and dives into-  
  
the bullet bounces off the wall. Now there is blood, and some of it is on her, but very little so that only she notices. Now they have escaped.  
  
And now, she is back in the cell.  
  
Each cycle was exactly the same to the last detail. She always reacted the same way, and felt the same fear, and thought the same thoughts. It was only at the beginning and at the end that she even realized, with futile despair, that it had all happened before. She would live through it again.  
  
In that tiny fraction of a moment between the end of the circle and the start, a word would shape itself in her mind. Murderer. Sometimes she would have time to gasp, "But I'm not!" and then the soldiers would come in, and show her that she was.  
  
The blood, just a tiny speck of it, lands above her eyebrow. She can feel it dry.  
  
Did Jin or Hwoarang ever see the woman, in her last seconds, stare straight at Xiaoyu? Did they see her expression as she realized she was dying? Did they understand her silent message? Save me. Did they ignore it?  
  
I'm a fighter, she wanted to scream in protest. I hurt people! People die!  
  
But the woman hadn't been fighting her. The woman had tried to help her. And Xiaoyu, as thanks, pointed a gun at a wall and shot her.  
  
Murderer.  
  
"Stop," she whispered, her voice strained hoarse.  
  
Then they'd crawled away, Xiaoyu hadn't even looked back, Xiaoyu hadn't tried to help her in return.  
  
Why was there so little blood on her? There should have been more.  
  
Back in the cell.  
  
Murderermurdemurderemur  
  
And the soldiers step inside.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Author's notes:  
  
Many thanks to Sam.  
  
Ug, someone save me from all this school!  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum. 


	15. ribbon

Sleepwake (Part 15/?)  
  
For disclaimer, see Part 1.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Natalia watched Hwoarang leave with his oblivious demon, a glint of sharpness in her eyes. Then she sighed, willing her thoughts to soften, and drew her gaze back to the girl. Even after so long, the unexpected meeting with Hwoarang had drawn fresh pain from her closing wounds. As for the . . . the being that had hung back in the dark corner of the room, taking instinctive shelter from her second vision-- well, Natalia could afford to take the precautions later.  
  
She slowly lifted the girl onto a soft cotton mat, placing pillows under her neck and the small of her back. One inanimate hand was curled over an egg and the Natalia lay other hand open, palm up. Finished with her preparations for the moment, Natalia sat back on her calves, waiting, observant. It was easier to wake someone when the person wanted to awaken, and it was easier to persuade someone whom Natalia knew. The witch fanned out her mind, broadening her grasp. She sifted for impressions of a personality, or any flicker of mental activity.  
  
Natalia's eyes stayed open while she cast her cognitive nets. The girl looked to be relaxed and sleeping, although Natalia had seen enough by now to know she wouldn't blink and sit up at only a firm shake. Her round face also divulged little by means of personality, beyond the fact that she was young, and blessed with attractive parents.  
  
But now, the clothes. . . The frivolous bow accompanied by insane hues of pink, that told her something. The girl truly had a child's heart, and was either unashamed or unaware of it. Natalia's pulse quickened, just the slightest, as she felt a link work itself into materiality like a ribbon connecting the girl's mind to hers, a highway for the insight she would need to have. And from a hairline crack in the shell, it came: a feeling of roughness, the texture of stone dragged under her palm.  
  
Natalia stared, her hand curling under her chin. The brevity and intensity of the sensation had startled her. The origin remained elusive when she tried to follow the feeling back to the person, but more fragments flashed by. They were coming faster, with exponential frequency: chill air drying her sweat; a spider above them that weaved on undisturbed by her gasp; fluorescent light, flickering and yellowed, hitting smooth armor; biting metal under her jaw; the inexplicable presence of the memory of a memory-- it was about flowing water; thin white needles spraying from the wall, the woman sinking, emptied, so much, wash it away-  
  
Natalia found herself immersed in the dark. She was a little disconcerted; it'd never happened that fast before, but she ignored her apprehension and hoped there would be no more surprises. Natalia called on the greatest -- and sometimes, when she lay awake at night, replaying memories of failed attempts, the worst-- force behind her power. She drew on her compassion, pouring it into the black void, holding back nothing, erecting no barrier to protect herself because to do so would be to lose faith, to lose that all-important ribbon.  
  
In a soundless voice more gentle than any she had been lucky enough to hear in her lifetime or could hope to produce outside of this dimensionless place, Natalia called to the girl, and urged her to return to warmth and candlelight, and to friends who worried. She was not entirely unprepared for the answer: a fierce wave of confusion, grief, guilt, and an anger that blazed even as it drowned.  
  
Taken aback by the unexpected anger, Natalia was uncharacteristically inactive while she puzzled. There was no subtle sensitive way to learn the reason behind it, so she asked:  
  
:: Why are you angry? ::  
  
In response, there was pain.  
  
:: Because you've been harmed? ::  
  
A voice took the place of raw sensation, a voice even smaller than the girl's physical size.  
  
not my pain  
  
:: Whose? ::  
  
Back to the wordless: the sting of guilt.  
  
:: You are angry because you caused pain? ::  
  
yes no we them I killed her  
  
An image of a body, lying on its side, leaking like an upset bottle of expensive red wine.  
  
A horrible sucking noise; moist, wheezy.  
  
It must have been a chest wound, Natalia thought, recalling that there had been a shootout. Only a punctured lung would sound like that.  
  
Another image, through the girl's perspective: the same corpse seen from sixty feet away, as she crawled to safety.  
  
And then nothing.  
  
:: What happened? After? ::  
  
no after the same again over again then here this  
  
Gradually Natalia understood. She had known other lighthearted people who became vulnerable to this darkness, misunderstanding it, misplacing the blame for its presence in their lives. The girl was so; she'd left behind a victim, but in a situation where she could've done nothing else. Her guilt, however, was blind.  
  
Natalia told her this, not in so many words. She poured and poured --Not your fault. Let it go-- unable to clamp down on the fear that it wouldn't be enough. Sometimes nothing was enough. Some resisted, falling into their own self contempt. Some gave up too soon. The girl has to reach, Natalia thought, she needs to try. Reach for me. Let it go.  
  
Her hesitancy unfolded then, a blackened bloom of confusion, but a relief to Natalia because it meant hope. The girl longed to leave, wanted it enough to act despite a tower of doubt, looming above them like Pisa.  
  
:: I will guide you back. ::  
  
to the brook? no I don't want to go back I can't it wants it calls  
  
This new puzzle worried Natalia. However, she wouldn't be diverted from her goal. There was time for questions later.  
  
:: Back to- ::  
  
She wanted to say "back to reality" but at this point the girl didn't seem capable of distinguishing between the two; this transient and insubstantial locale, and the outer world. Natalia thought quickly, searching for a name she would recognize.  
  
:: Back to Hwoarang. ::  
  
A silence, an absolute stillness, and then-- then a flood of relief. Natalia was momentarily dumbfounded that anyone could associate this particular species of emotion with the caustic sharp-eyed sharp-tongued redhead she knew. Nonetheless, the witch had found her way. The darkness withdrew.  
  
* * *  
  
Xiaoyu opened her eyes, heavy eyelids only half cooperating. She couldn't see far in the limited, moving light of the candles, but that alone was enough to tell her what she wanted desperately to know. She was out of the cell. She would never let herself be put there again.  
  
"Jin and Hwoarang," she whispered, her throat struggling with thirst and the long lack of use, "Did they make it out?"  
  
"Shh, they're safe," said a voice that sounded both familiar and new, as a bowl was brought to Xiaoyu's greedy mouth. She drank deeply, draining the bowl too soon.  
  
"Rest."  
  
Xiaoyu was already asleep.  
  
* * *  
  
"Half dance club, half hotel," Hwoarang pondered aloud, wondering whose idea it was. Probably Natalia's, seeing how Mike was possibly too dimwitted and too naÃ¯ve to even understand why the dancers would flock to hotels.  
  
"Which one are you taking?" asked Jin.  
  
Hwoarang shrugged. He knocked on the door immediately to his right and, hearing no groan of irritation from within, said, "This one."  
  
"I'll take this one then." Jin walked through the open door opposite to his and closed it behind him, presumably to fling himself onto the bed in complete darkness.  
  
Hwoarang remained in the hallway, his gaze burning into the carpet, a hand absently resting on the doorknob to his room. Random thoughts presented themselves for his not-quite-sound judgement. This shade of maroon didn't match the mint walls. Had he left the burner on at home? Donahue could benefit from some Prozac. Who knows, he was an older man, maybe Viagra too. It was a while before Hwoarang shook himself out of his stupor and rubbed vigorously at his face. Sleep. He was tired, and the thought should have been tantalizing, but felt instead like a chore, a task he needed to complete in order to function efficiently once again. Hwoarang looked down, almost surprised that the doorknob was already in his hand. He turned it.  
  
Jin's door opened, and his face popped out, slightly red.  
  
"I- I should've thanked you. So. . . thanks."  
  
"What?" Hwoarang tried not to yawn. He failed.  
  
"You've done a lot to help us, Hwoarang. I'm- in your debt."  
  
Hwoarang stared at Jin. He wasn't up to being gracious, but recognized both the badly-veiled discomfort and also the earnesty. He waved him away.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, Kazama. Remember that the next time you're cursing me behind my back. Or to my face. Whatever. Just let me sleep."  
  
Reluctantly, Jin returned to his room, and Hwoarang unceremoniously entered his, threw a pillow from the bed onto the floor, and collapsed onto it face first. Hotel beds were always too damn soft. He hoped somebody had vacuumed.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Author's notes:  
  
I know, earnesty's not a word. I'm frustrated and grumpy and earnestness pales infinitely in comparison, so there you go. The birth of a word. Use it well.  
  
Also, many thanks go to Sam! 


	16. insomnia

Sleepwake (Part 16/?)  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimer.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Hwoarang slid out of his room, moving with almost casual stealth even though he doubted anyone would be awake to hear him. Not that he really cared if they did. To his frustration, sleep had failed to follow exhaustion, resulting in a lengthy but fruitless wrestle with his pillow for comfort, and several seconds on the downy bed before he gave up all hope. Hwoarang hated to admit any physical weakness, hated even to consider their existence if he knew they couldn't be rectified, but his insomnia stared him in the face and mocked him. It was loathsome testimony to a theory he'd built his life by: the only enemy that was capable of defeating him was himself. Well, besides Kazama.  
  
"Fucking tie," he muttered. The deep gray silence absorbed his words like they'd never been spoken.  
  
Barefoot, he strode from his room with no destination in mind, moving his feet one ahead of the other to occupy his body and to calm his thoughts. It didn't occur to him to check on Natalia until he was standing in front of the lacquered door, not entirely certain why he'd walked there. He stood immobile, unready to leave, but averse to idea of going inside, penetrating that mysterious and vaguely restorative stillness. Even the raucous bass of the dance music had subdued to become inaudible now.  
  
Hwoarang was excused from his dilemma when the door swung forward on oiled hinges. He dimly saw the sweeping, shadowed figure of Natalia.  
  
"Bob," she acknowledged. Natalia pushed the door closed and turned to him in one natural movement, as though she'd been expecting him and he was late. Hwoarang wasn't bewildered by her lack of bewilderment; it took a great deal --for instance, Jin, he thought-- to catch her unaware. Over the course of their past friendship, she had developed a sensitivity to his comings and goings. She used to go off about auras and disturbed fengshui by way of explanation, which he eventually came to accept, because who was he to argue over the occult with a witch? Regardless, the whole thing took some getting used to, though he'd been both repelled and fascinated by her impossible talents. Which Mike still refused to recognize the existence of.  
  
Irked by the thought of Mike, Hwoarang frowned deeply, still looking at Natalia. She misinterpreted, and made a shooing motion at him. "Don't look so worried, it'll be fine."  
  
That jolted him to his senses.  
  
"Xiaoyu will be okay?" he asked, too quickly, earning him a sidelong look from Natalia.  
  
"The girl? Yes. She just needs the understanding of her friends, and sleep. You could probably use some too, by the way."  
  
"Well, you're not sleepwalking," he pointed out. She shrugged, waved vaguely toward the wall that separated the hall from the dance room.  
  
"They sustain me." Seeing the look on Hwoarang's face, she snorted. "It's not as if I'm a vampire, you idiot. The energy rolls off the dancers like steam. I can't help it if I pick some up."  
  
Hwoarang shook his head. He returned to the topic that, he realized, had been itching in the back of his head.  
  
"Tell me what happened. With Xiaoyu."  
  
Natalia grew abruptly somber, and sighed. She looked at him thoughtfully, and then tilted her head.  
  
"Ask her yourself, in the morning. I don't think it's my place to tell you. I'm sure she won't refuse you." He began to protest, but Natalia continued over him, "Now, show me which rooms you and, uh, your friend have chosen."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"As the hostess, I have the right and obligation to know where my guests are staying, do you disagree? So move it, darling." The endearment sounded like another amused slight, coming from Natalia. Hwoarang, too worn to debate the issue, trudged back with Natalia at a safe distance from his side.  
  
"That one's Jin's, this one's mine. Do I get a cookie?"  
  
"Hush."  
  
Natalia was staring at Jin's door in concentration. Mouthing sliding syllables, she made a diagonal sealing motion with her right arm, and her left came up to brace against the air parallel to the plane of the door, like a traffic officer making the stop signal. The doorknob began to glow, iridescence and shadows dancing around each other under its smooth surface, so that Hwoarang felt as though he were watching lightening bugs at play. He kept expecting for the effect to fade away under his stunned and uncomfortable gaze, but it didn't. Hwoarang turned to Natalia, waiting for the explanation. Instead, she issued a command.  
  
"Touch the doorknob."  
  
"No."  
  
"It's safe. Trust me, Hwoarang." Then, perhaps to demonstrate the validity of her reassurance, Natalia reached forward. She brushed lightly against the incandescent brass in a brief caress. Natalia looked at Hwoarang expectantly.  
  
She's right, I am an idiot, he thought, but he grazed his finger against the doorknob anyway. At his touch, it flared brilliant blue. He jerked his hand away, turning to glare at Natalia, but the blue melted calmly back into the ordinary, familiar browns of brass. The door looked the same as it had before.  
  
"What was that?" Hwoarang demanded. "If that was an attempt on Jin's-"  
  
"You street punks," Natalia cut in with a martyred look, "so damn superstitious. Show you some flashing lights and you're cowering in fear."  
  
"Natalia."  
  
"It's an inactive spell, Bob, to let me know when . . . Jin leaves his room after nightfall. When I'm awake, I sense everything under this roof, but I can't watch him if I'm sleeping. Thus, if he decides to stagger to the bathroom at midnight, I wake up and I know. And so do you, since you touched the doorknob." Hwoarang involuntarily grimaced at this particular scenario, but Natalia continued.  
  
"It has no other effects, although I'd recommend that you don't mention this to him. No one gets hurt, everyone's safe."  
  
Hwoarang stared at the door a while longer. Then he looked back to Natalia, speaking in slow, deliberate tones.  
  
"I think you should explain to me what you know about Jin."  
  
Natalia nodded.  
  
"We have a great deal to talk about." Walking past Hwoarang's door, she looked back at him, saying, "Shall we?" After an almost unnoticeable hesitation that anyone other than Natalia would have missed, Hwoarang followed, and shut the door.  
  
Inside, she moved to a nightstand without turning on the light, and pulled out an object, which, upon being lit, Hwoarang saw was a candle.  
  
"You keep one in every room?" he asked.  
  
She set it onto the floor. It stood without any obvious means of support.  
  
"I like them. These burn brighter than most candles, softer than most lights, and they shine white. They don't dribble either."  
  
Hwoarang considered.  
  
"Those must sell," he said. Natalia laughed quietly.  
  
"Haven't changed, have you."  
  
There was a moment's silence as they both sat on the floor, watching the flame of the candle. It remained remarkably still, one tall tapering spear of light.  
  
"How is Mike treating you?" Hwoarang finally was compelled to ask.  
  
"Well," she said.  
  
"I'm glad," he said.  
  
"Why didn't you come to the wedding?"  
  
They both heard a rush of air as Hwoarang let out his breath. There it was, out in the open. Where the hell had Bob been?  
  
"Because," he started, staring resolutely into the candle, preparing to lie. "Because I was. . . "  
  
"What?" Natalia prompted. Her voice was soft again, wistful in a way he hadn't heard it since too long ago. With that voice, a wall crumbled down between them.  
  
"Because I couldn't stand it," Hwoarang said, truthfully. "Because I didn't think Mike deserved you."  
  
"Did you deserve me?" she asked, genuinely interested in what he'd been thinking.  
  
"No," he said with another quiet sigh, "I don't think I deserved anyone. But you and Mike. . . I was wrong. You're right for each other. Mike loves you."  
  
Natalia too was staring at the candle, a tiny grin on her face.  
  
"I was furious with you, you know. When you didn't show up, I thought 'How dare he? How dare he pretend to care and not be there to see my entire life change?'"  
  
"Was it for the better?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
So much buttressed that word. He could hear the companionship that made it true.  
  
"Wish I'd been there," he whispered, envisioning Mike, bumbling and blond and sincere in a stiff new tuxedo, and Natalia, wearing no jewelry because she was radiant without it.  
  
"Me too."  
  
They looked at each other, smiled.  
  
Then Natalia laughed at her sentimentality and he joined her, wondering if he'd always been that mawkish or if Mike had rubbed off on him.  
  
"Don't forget to invite me," she said, wearing a broad grin now, "when you decide to glue yourself to that special woman. I'm dying to see who it'll be."  
  
Hwoarang snorted.  
  
"Or man," Natalia added as an afterthought. "That Jin is awfully handsome, wouldn't you say?"  
  
"You and Eisuke. It's like I'm being punished."  
  
Natalia paused, leaning forward to stroke the candle flame.  
  
"We have to talk about him, don't we?"  
  
"Why do you say it like that? Like it's something I don't want to hear."  
  
"You don't. Good things are not in store for him, Hwoarang. Not for you either, if you leave with him."  
  
"I can't abandon them."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
It was a reasonable question. Didn't the Blood Talon always put his own survival first? Hwoarang shut his eyes.  
  
"I don't know why yet."  
  
Natalia gave him that sidelong look again, like maybe she did know but wasn't going to tell him.  
  
"His aura is invisible to me," she said instead, "Do you know how strange that is? I can feel everyone like you can see or hear. Not to be able to see, able to hear one single person. . ." She trailed off, hugging herself. "When people enter, I feel them, and they feel me. The regulars think it's some kind of new drug in the air that makes them get that headache when they first step through the door. They don't know it's me, scanning their hearts for malice, pushing them out if I find it. How do you think we stay so successful so easily, Mike and I, in this part of town?"  
  
"I thought it was luck."  
  
That was partially true. He had been dubious and worried for them when Mike happily insisted on buying the place on a crime-infested street, but after they gained their footing and the dance club flourished, he did dismiss it as luck. Luck, and somehow Natalia, but the suspicion had never solidified in his mind before now.  
  
Natalia looked at him, as though to say, 'Since when did you start believing in luck?'. She shook her head, went on.  
  
"But I never felt him. He entered the club with you, strolled down that hall with you, and stood right before my own eyes with you, and I didn't realize he was there until he stepped forward, holding the girl, who was hidden from me because she was so close to his body. It terrifies me. It's unnatural. That's coming from a witch." Natalia was clutching her arms, shivering. Hwoarang himself felt on edge.  
  
"When I looked into his eyes, I thought I'd lost my mind. You see irises. I saw light. Red light. And then it flickered, and he looked normal. I tell you, something in him was aware of me, and tried to hide itself from me. There's several things he could be, Hwoarang, but 'human' is not one of them."  
  
"Can't you," Hwoarang searched for the idea, struggling to find it, for this talk of aura and the intangible didn't come easily, "Can't you exorcise him or something?"  
  
Natalia turned on him, seizing him by the shoulders with her nails digging into his skin.  
  
"Understand this, and don't forget it. Your friend is not, NOT, possessed. He is not a hollow vessel."  
  
Hwoarang looked at her, at a loss for words. Natalia released her vise- like grip and turned her face away, back to the candle.  
  
"You don't take him seriously enough. You're all too complacent. I don't know how I can make you understand, this temporary safety that you wallow in. Certainly I can't show you; how could I, when the demon himself is unaware? My fear is that he lies to himself, trying to disentangle the demon from his identity." And Natalia's tone shifted, betraying the lateness of the night, over a reflective uncertainty. "Or am I wrong?" she murmured. "No, he isn't one possessed, but perhaps the two do not meld." Natalia blinked, slowly, drowsily. Then she shook herself. She met Hwoarang's eyes, laughing.  
  
"I curse this gift of mine. It shows me, but does it show me truth? At least I know I'm not all mad; the girl feels it too."  
  
"Xiaoyu? What do you mean?" Hwoarang said, sitting up and unconsciously leaning forward.  
  
"She fears what's ahead for you all. It's a confusing jumble of echoes and unease in her mind, but it's there."  
  
Hwoarang pushed his hair back from his face with both hands, feeling burdened by this new knowledge that he had no part in. Natalia watched him with a sly smile. He leaned back, anticipating a barb, but what she said was more confusing than insulting.  
  
"I told you that when Jin held Xiaoyu, his invisible aura eclipsed hers. So I found it rather interesting that you, your aura I mean, changes in response to her. Do you want to know how?"  
  
"If I say no, will it stop you from telling me?" he asked, his eyes slit.  
  
"No," Natalia chirped. "Your aura is, oh how to put this delicately, rather ugly, Bob. It's blotchy and bruised. But when you're close to her, or look at her, or maybe think about her, I don't know-" She said the last part rather quickly as Hwoarang started to growl. "- then the bruises do this nice little trick, where they just mellow and fade. Isn't that nice?" she asked, beaming at him.  
  
"You're making this up to annoy me," he accused. She laughed.  
  
"Oh, don't you wish I were."  
  
"I do not have a bruised aura." Hwoarang pouted, for show, because he was quite aware that it made him adorable. Natalia smirked and stood up, moving to the door.  
  
"Natalia."  
  
She turned back, waiting.  
  
"You going to sleep?" he asked.  
  
"Yes. Although Mike and his germs have the luxury of the whole bed for tonight." Hwoarang frowned at the unnecessary info, then cleared his throat.  
  
"Could I go check on her then, in case she gets thirsty or something? I won't be losing any sleep."  
  
Natalia raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Have pity on my bruises, Nata."  
  
She laughed.  
  
"Fine, fine. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Natalia said, winking at him before closing the door, muffling Hwoarang's loud and indignant reply.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Gracias a Sam! Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum. 


	17. wake up

He walked carefully past the lacquered door, half expecting to see Xiaoyu emitting rays of white light and levitating above the ground. The sight of her enveloped in peaceful sleep, lying on her side under a heavy earth- colored blanket, greatly eased Hwoarang's anxiety.  
  
The blanket had slid down to her waist with its end twisted tightly around her calves, hinting that Xiaoyu's sleep was not as tranquil as it seemed. He crouched down and pulled the blanket up to her shoulders. Hwoarang unconsciously kept his breath light when he knelt on the edge of the mat, not wanting to inadvertently awake her.  
  
'Aura,' whispered Natalia's voice in his head. 'Yours changes.'  
  
He tried to envision it. If his was ugly and blotched, which surprised him not at all, then what would Xiaoyu's look like? Hwoarang couldn't bring himself he see a cloud of color floating around her, the way it'd once been described to him. Xiaoyu's aura, in his neglected imagination, vividly took the shape of a set of mist-wrapped wings, expansive and ethereal. Not angel wings, since Hwoarang had no love of theology, and tended to picture angels, on those rare instances when he thought of them at all, as simple cookie cutter shapes hanging from Christmas trees. Phoenix wings, perhaps. Powerful and broad enough to fill the room.  
  
Hwoarang was jarred out of his contemplation when Xiaoyu stirred beneath his hands; he'd absently left them by her shoulders after he had drawn the blanket up. Startled, the Korean pulled back too quickly, overbalancing and falling onto his rear. Hwoarang winced at the loudness of his fall, and waited for a sign of her awakening. Perhaps she would yell at him; funny how he almost seemed to look forward to this possibility.  
  
Xiaoyu didn't wake up. She rolled onto her back, her legs freeing the blanket and then catching it again. Hwoarang realized he heard a pained whisper, and had to strain for the syllables.  
  
"Bu," she said, the sound dampened as she moved her face away from him, into one pale arm that had been flung over her head. "Shui. Huai shui." Xiaoyu chanted it as if it were a mantra, the words slurred together and gaining speed as her breath grew shallow in her distress. Hwoarang watched with growing alarm, but couldn't find it in him to breach the taboo of actually waking her. With helpless dismay, he saw his hand brush and linger against, for lack of a safer place, Xiaoyu's collarbone. Like a miracle, she stilled. Her face was flushed but clear as though a fever had broken.  
  
Hwoarang was left irrationally shaken. He tried to retrieve his hand, pulling it away slowly this time, but soon after its absence Xiaoyu resumed muttering her indecipherable, horrible mantra. At his wit's end, Hwoarang emitted a soft desperate noise, returning his hand to her collarbone, the awkward movement forcing him to kneel by her head. Immediately, her sleep was serene again.  
  
He stared at his hand against Xiaoyu's skin like it was a new life form, evolved from another creature that had nothing to do with Hwoarang. He could feel how her skin was almost hot, slick with a sheen of sweat, and he felt obscurely guilty, as if the touch was more intimate than it was, less innocent than he'd intended. Wake up, firefly, he begged her in his thoughts, wake up wake up and push me away. Her brow furrowed like she'd heard him, feeding the guilt that settled somewhere in his stomach, a growing tumor. Why should he begrudge Xiaoyu her sleep, when it cost him so little to stay there?  
  
But it costs me so much.  
  
"Gun," she whispered, her eyes moving beneath their lids, "duck."  
  
"You're safe. There's no danger anymore, it's okay. It's okay." His voice slipped on the first "okay" and cracked on the second. Nonetheless, it seemed to calm its intended audience, who was thankfully not fully awake to hear.  
  
Traitorously, Hwoarang's other hand moved to brush away the hair that fell across her eyes; he clenched it beside him, making a fist angled towards the ground. This was insane. This was insomnia. Yes, insomnia. Tomorrow he would wake up and not remember.  
  
Xiaoyu flopped gracelessly back onto her side, flinging her arm outwards as she did so.  
  
"Jin," he heard, and finally there was silence.  
  
Hwoarang froze.  
  
Her stray hand covered the one he'd clenched tight.  
  
She thought he was Jin.  
  
The two thoughts warred in his mind until they fused together and he thought of Jin holding Xiaoyu's hand. He was beginning to feel light- headed, but not in the happy frolicking-in-the-meadow way, unless frolicking in the meadow had been updated to include a mother load of Aspirin. Eventually, his self-control returned from its coffee break, and Hwoarang managed to force the rate of his heartbeat down to a more tolerable level, squeezing his eyes shut in search for some scrap of inner equilibrium. She thought he was Jin. Well, that was all for the better, because if Xiaoyu knew it was him, she'd likely recoil from him in distaste, and ask where Jin was. Or she'd slap him. Or, most likely, she'd cock her head, with uncertainty in her wide brown eyes, and ask him what he was doing.  
  
Seventeen, Hwoarang moaned silently. A fucking high school student. Seventeen going on twelve.  
  
* * *  
  
In the morning, when Natalia walked in, she saw Xiaoyu curled tightly on the mat and fast asleep, and Hwoarang leaning against a wall, staring at a point in the air suspiciously near the girl's hand.  
  
"Sleep well?" she asked him.  
  
"Shut up, Nata."  
  
"Touchy touchy," she said, smirking knowingly at him. Hwoarang frowned at her. That was his smirk. She'd learned that smirk from him.  
  
"I think I'm going to pass out," he stated, so bleakly that Natalia had to have mercy on him.  
  
"Well, go pass out on your bed then. You can nap until late afternoon. And wear this." She unwound the red jade necklace that had hung around her wrist and put it in his palm. Hwoarang looked at it, trying to understand its existence, what it was doing in his hand.  
  
"For your insomnia," she explained. He blinked, once. Then the synapses fired, and he gave Natalia a smile that shone with inexpressible love. The redhead opened his mouth, presumably to proclaim his undying affection, but she hauled him up and drove him out the door.  
  
"Go sleep already," she said, "looking at you makes me tired."  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Author's notes:  
  
Hmm, I don't know if I got the pinyin right on that. Oh well. Thanks Sam!  
  
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Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum. 


	18. wayworn

Sleepwake (Part 18/?)  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimer.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Xiaoyu blinked at Donahue.  
  
Donahue blinked at Xiaoyu.  
  
". . . Hi?" she offered. She smiled weakly at the gruff bartender, who was towering over her in one tall intimidating boulder of solidity. Xiaoyu felt like an errant dwarf. He, on the other hand, obviously knew his way around, had some role to play here. It made him belong in this unknown place in a way she didn't.  
  
Yet he reacted to her tentative greeting with a startled jump, so maybe he was just as uncomfortable as Xiaoyu. The idea eased her nervousness enough to brighten her smile, warming it a few degrees closer to the thousand-watt grin Jin would've recognized. But Xiaoyu didn't feel up to a thirty-watt grin at the moment. Not enough to light a broom closet.  
  
Donahue coughed, a low rumble in his diaphragm.  
  
"Morning," he hazarded. With slightly more confidence, "Natalia asked me to bring these."  
  
He set a breakfast tray of toast, jam, milk, and some fruit beside Xiaoyu's cotton mat. Xiaoyu poked at the toast. It was warm and smelled wonderfully edible, if slightly scorched.  
  
"She said you shouldn't be eating too much yet," Donahue told her, making a hesitant attempt at conversation. Perhaps Natalia'd asked him to, Xiaoyu thought. Whoever that was. The foreign surroundings and names and faces made her grip the blanket more tightly, wishing the pillows were large enough to hug. "She's not here herself because she went out to get more orange juice for Mike," the bartender added.  
  
"Donahue?" Xiaoyu asked, trying the syllables out with a swollen tongue.  
  
"Uh, yeah?"  
  
"Who's Natalia? And Mike?"  
  
He squinted at her, confused.  
  
"You don't know who Natalia is?"  
  
She shook her head, regretting it when the room spun a little.  
  
"Then how do you know me?"  
  
Xiaoyu pointed to the nametag stuck onto his shirt. It read 'Hi! I'm:' and then had room for a name to be penned in. Donahue's signature was large and hasty. 'Bartender' was written below, a cramped afterthought.  
  
"Oh, that," he said, his mouth turning downwards in remembered annoyance. "Mike makes everyone wear them. Don't rightly know where Natalia found herself such a-"  
  
He paused, remembering Xiaoyu.  
  
"That's right, you don't know who they are. Mike and Natalia own this dance club."  
  
Xiaoyu clutched the blanket tighter.  
  
"Why," she said, and had to clear her throat, "Why am I in a dance club?"  
  
"I couldn't tell you. You'd best ask your friend that brought you in here, Bob."  
  
"Bob?" Her tone was steady through brute force of will, but she could feel herself shrinking.  
  
"Yeah," confirmed Donahue. Then a thought occurred to him, and he asked, "You don't know him either?"  
  
"No." Steady, perhaps, but miniscule. She felt tears threatening to blur her vision, and looked away from Donahue in shame. Panic congealed in her chest, climbing up her throat. "I don't," --Oh god no, the sniffles-- "I don't remember. I don't know what happened." She knew she should've been mortified, but all Xiaoyu could feel was the rising hysteria. "I don't know where I am. I don't know why I'm here. I don't know anybody. I-"  
  
She clamped her mouth shut and stared at Donahue with watery eyes.  
  
If possible, Donahue looked even more panicked than she felt.  
  
"Hold on," he said to her, "Don't worry. Just. . . hold on a minute."  
  
She watched as he left the room in a hurry, listened to the heavy footsteps grow fainter and fainter. The sniffles turned into long, irregular breaths, and she felt her eyes sting as she swallowed, convulsively. Soon she couldn't hear Donahue at all, and sat hunched in an unwanted, smothering solitude beside her cooling toast.  
  
* * *  
  
Jin sat at the bar, munching on a tasteless candy bar he'd found beneath the counter. The club was closed on Saturday mornings, and Donahue was nowhere in sight, so he'd laid the money on the countertop. He counted it, added a bill, and unwrapped a second candy bar. Jin ate chocolate like alcoholics drank: with great voracity and in times of stress.  
  
He was on his fourth bar when Hwoarang staggered into view. Sleeping in had done him some good, Jin noted. Hwoarang's motions were clumsy with the pain of migraines, but the shadows underlining his eyes had disappeared. A rope of red jade beads hung around his neck, a smooth fiery noose. Hwoarang's fingers plucked at it, as if about to pull it off, but he didn't. The beads glittered wetly, winking at Jin.  
  
"Nice necklace," Jin commented before taking another bite and chomping with an air of contemplation.  
  
"Go to hell," the redhead said, lacking his usual enthusiasm. Jin shrugged, swallowed, and gave Hwoarang a wan smile.  
  
"Ah well, there's no point in rushing."  
  
Hwoarang had been digging under the counter, but glanced up at him and held his gaze. Then, muttering, the redhead returned to his search.  
  
"Looking for something?" Jin asked.  
  
"Tylenol," said Hwoarang. He paused to blow a lock of hair out of his eyes. The morning light filtered about his head, setting his copper strands ablaze, like a burning chicken nest.  
  
"You should get that cut," Jin mused.  
  
"Fuck off," said Hwoarang. Jin considered remarking on his originality this morning, but decided it wasn't worth the trouble. It also occurred to him to tell Hwoarang that Jin, nursing his own headache, had already searched for Tylenol and hadn't found any, but reached a similar conclusion.  
  
"Where is everyone?"  
  
Still digging:  
  
"No dancers in the day, Mike's half dead in his room, Natalia went out for groceries, Donahue's bringing Xiaoyu her breakfast."  
  
"Xiaoyu?" Jin was on his feet. "She's okay? Is she awake?"  
  
Hwoarang, who must've been still partially asleep, splayed his hand against the floor, to steady himself probably, and stared at it with hooded eyes. Jin waited impatiently for his answer.  
  
And waited.  
  
Finally, the Korean continued his excavation of the bar's cabinetry, albeit many times slower than before.  
  
"You should go visit her," he said softly, not turning to face Jin. "If she's awake, she'll . . . she'll want to see you."  
  
Mystified by Hwoarang's sudden change in temperament, Jin nodded and left for the halls that lead to the lacquered door. He ran into Donahue almost instantly.  
  
"Hey, we're closed!" the bartender called out, "How'd you get in- Wait. Didn't you come in with that girl? The little one with pigtails?"  
  
"Why? Did something happen to her?" asked Jin. He felt heat drain from his face. The bartender looked agitated.  
  
"No, she- Does she know you?"  
  
"What? Yes. Of course!"  
  
Donahue was visibly relieved.  
  
"Oh, good. I went looking for you, you or that rascal she can't remember. She needs to see a friend right now."  
  
Jin remembered to breathe, did so quite quickly, and thanked the man for finding him. He started walking towards the room at a brisk pace, but ended up running. Why did Donahue look so frightened? Xiaoyu was okay now, wasn't she? But if she was fine, why didn't she remember Hwoarang? Did she still remember _him_? What if she didn't? What if-? He imagined a dozen answers before reaching the door, thought of a dozen more questions, more whatifwhatifs? It didn't seem as though he'd turned the brass knob, the door flew open so fast.  
  
"Xiaoyu!"  
  
Whatever thoughts he had before entering the room excused themselves politely and promptly evacuated Jin's mind.  
  
Xiaoyu sat in the center of the floor, her head in her arms, her arms thrown around her knees. Her shoulders shuddered with muffled sobs. For a moment, Jin stood in dumb silence, overcome with helplessness. This situation was completely beyond his knowledge of her, or really his knowledge of any living person. He had seen Xiaoyu cry before, certainly; she'd soaked his shirt in her tears while simultaneously inhaling popcorn on numerous cinematic occasions. She cried when the safety officials finally took Panda away from her, placed the bear in a zoo. She cried in fear when her dear uncle had a stroke and was hospitalized, cried in joy when they learned it was minor and he'd fully recovered, cried the one time, when they weren't yet friends, Jin had suggested in frustration that she be more mature, act her age for once, and she'd turned away from him to wipe off a single angry tear. But Xiaoyu never, never cried in a fight, no matter how hard she fell, or how many bones she dislocated. So at least Jin knew that she was, physically, unharmed.  
  
Nor did she ever cry like this. Not this lost and secret weeping.  
  
Lacking the words to comfort her, Jin acted on what came naturally. He sat beside her, wrapped his arms over Xiaoyu's shoulders, drew her under his chin. Her reaction was instant and disturbing; she stiffened, twisted fiercely to escape his hold, her hand pushing his chest.  
  
"It's me, it's Jin. Xiaoyu, it's me," he whispered. "It's me."  
  
The meaning took a second to sink in, although the familiarity of his voice had immediate effect. The thrashing subsided. Xiaoyu blinked, looked up, blinked again. Her tears still clung to her eyelashes, streaking down her face to splatter on his forearm.  
  
"Jin?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
The strange quiet was broken. She sobbed loudly, the full earnest release that he'd witnessed that day the hospital called her, when they told her that no, your uncle will be just fine, he won't die, everything will be fine, see, he wants to talk to you and it'll be okay dear, it's okay.  
  
Don't worry.  
  
It'll all work out okay.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
Author's notes:  
  
Okay, time for some way overdue thanks. First off, big big thanks to Sam, because I just don't thank her _enough_ for her patience with my whining, for her wonderfully kind way of criticism, for her all-around inexpressible coolness ^_^. And thanks to all the nice sparkly people who review this story, even though I'm temperamental sometimes (okay, a lot) and maudlin and self-important and inconsistent and take forever to update. I'm so grateful to you all, the thought that people are waiting for the next chapter is one of the most important reasons why I write sleepwake.  
  
And an off note regarding all the soap-opera-ish happenings: hee, when I said fluff, I meant it people!  
  
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Constructive criticism will be printed out and framed. Flames will be used to toast marshmallows. Yum. 


	19. maomi: blah blah blah!

Hi all! ::wavewavewave::  
  
Wow, it's been such a while since I posted. Gehsiocmapnehplue. Oof.  
  
So I'll just get to it. I know it's been centuries, and sleepwake is collecting an ass load of metaphorical dust at ff.net. I know that several of you wonderful, beautiful readers once checked daily to see if the story had finally been updated. I know many of you believe I must have just given up, or forgotten about it all, that sleepwake dies here. I know I've disappointed, and for that I can't tell you how regretful I feel.  
  
However, sleepwake has _not_ been collecting dust in my mind. I haven't forgotten it at all, I find myself suddenly coming upon a new plot point when I'm waiting in line at lunch, or almost falling asleep at 2 am. I love writing the story, and when I finish it I'll be so happy I won't know what to do with myself, even though I'll be a sad to see it end.  
  
But enough of me being sappy as maple orchards! If I love sleepwake so damn much, why haven't I been writing anything? The truth: I've been going just a little bit crazy. School, strained friendships, unwanted drama, the works, the usual, it's all freaking me out. Recently, I've taken to pretending I'm a Well-Rounded-Person, which apparently means being a busy ass hell-driven mo'fo. Who knew? I regularly catch myself wishing for 50 hour days.  
  
So when does this end? Right, I'm not known for being punctual around here, but since my last major exams this year end in may, I would say work on sleepwake starts about then. I don't want to break hearts: please, don't scribble that on the calendar or anything. Just know that the story is living and breathing and healthy.  
  
Damn, I take this thing seriously, don't I?  
  
::nodnod::  
  
whoa, I didn't use a smiley at all! Kinda scary, huh?  
  
++ maomi ++  
  
{ but hey, if you want to complain about the injustice, or to tell me what a stupid point I stopped at, or try to convince me how and why I should start writing now, or tell me to for the sake of all that is good shut up already, feel free! Criticism, even questionably punctuated flames, are as welcome as shameless flattery. Which is very welcome indeed. ::COUGH:: Yes.  
  
Also, _mad times ten_ props to all the people who've emailed me, especially:  
  
Unknown Mercenary (my god, _thank you_) who is an amazing ff.net author her/himself  
  
Julia (I'm so sorry I haven't given a reply to your email)  
  
And always, gratitude to sam, for being the most awsome-est friend ever. } 


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